Taking Orders From Nobody
by cheddarbiscuit
Summary: Her reply was delayed. Her voice was smaller than ever before, he wanted to claim he had misheard her, because what she said chilled him to the bone, "I had a strange dream last night."
1. Prologue

Taking Orders from Nobody

Disclaimer: Do not own.

You know at the rate this fanfic is going I'm going to really salty if it still somehow finishes before KH III hits the market.

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Prologue:

A void was a strange place to find a stain glass pillar.

Jak, as any mostly good person would do, checked the soles of his shoes for grime and gore. They were strangely spotless. He could have sworn they had been dirty before. Really dirty, actually. Yes. He had trekked through Haven Forest, getting them caked an inch upwards with mud, and then he had gone to the pumping station after-wards, getting sand in the mud and pebbles in the treads, and there was never a day that went by without him getting blood on his shoes.

Strange that they were completely clean now, dirt should be falling off in chunks, and sand should be shedding like glitter.

He bowed his head and held his fingertips to his forehead, he could not remember how he had gotten there. He had just been... He had been walking around Haven City with Keira, and then he had been simply pulled away from it all, flung across the ocean and plunged in to the black, icy depths, pushed through the water (but his clothes were very not wet), only to wind up in this glass pillar.

He was dreaming.

No wonder his shoes were clean!

Yes. Of course. That was why Daxter dissolved on his shoulder and Keira had been turned to dust at his side, and all of the city shattered like a mirror.

Right. Clean shoes. Dreaming. Now that that was established, he could focus on the more important things. Like, why he dreamed of a stained glass pillar in the middle of a void. Or, why the dream had wound up in the void, and why had he not gained lucidity _earlier_ so he could be back in dream-Keira's apartment right now.

Or the garage.

Or at least have her on this pillar.

"That's right." He said to himself. This place had great acoustics, "This is my dream. She'll just appear if I want her too."

_Jak,_ a voice poured directly into his mind, _Jak we don't have time for these shenanigans._

"WOAH!" Jak spun around, scanning the darkness, and then the pillar for any sign of anyone else. He noticed a hand, wrought in iron and filled with marbled and waving glass, spilling from it were small, narrow, pink shells, the contouring lines were a hair's width, and the glass faded from a pale yellow to a rich pink. The craftsmanship was incredible.

He followed the hand to the arm, and upwards to the shoulder, then to a neck, framed by deep sea colored curls, and a heart-shaped face with green eyes and slanting eyebrows that betrayed sympathy for the world.

It was Keira.

"Damn it, this _isn't_ what I had in mind."

_Jak we don't have time for this!_

"Even in my _dreams_ I can't get anywhere with Keira!" he threw up a hand. "Just when I have some control over things, _poof_ here comes a genie that _still _screws me over."

_Jak!_

_"_Oh shut up it's just a dream anyway."

The voice tried to sound calm and firm. _Jak this is not a dream. This is a serious issue. The world is in danger._

_"_Oh, I get what this is." He groaned in frustration. Some stress-related dream a head-shrink he could not afford would analyze into little, deeply meaningless pieces. Great. "Look, mystery voice, if the world is in danger—yet _again_—I'll handle it. I just sent the Metalheads running—Seriously, it was last Thursday. I can handle whatever you have to throw at me, too."

The voice seemed to huff in annoyance. It was a nondescript noise, much like the voice itself, featureless. It was a figment of his mind. Three items appeared and hovered in the air about chest-high; a red and black shield, a blue and green club, and a blue and gold sword.

It was just going through the motions now. _Which will you choose_?

Jak had never quite mastered _beating people up with shields._ The entire concept was alien to him. He had never truly encountered shields before; they were just artifacts from a time he had missed, they had gained popularity when he went through the rift—and very short-lived, too. They were clumsy things, war trophies made from the husks of fallen Metalheads, with little utility value—the carbon based, semi-metallic plates grew brittle and decayed quickly after death without the addition of polymers. Anything sword-like had never been his forte. He just did not like the hassle of keeping them sharp, and when faced with a heavily-armored foe, it was too much to have to think about how to do damage by finding the one little slit between two plates. He had never used a sword before. He had never managed to get on in the past, Sandover Village had never had a blacksmith, and no one used them to the future. It was a gun or blunt force trauma for him He liked the idea of; swing your hammer, let static shock to the rest. . Anything else was too clumsy or too skilled.

So he chose the club.

The voice, though featureless, sounded a little perturbed and surprised, so what was supposed to be cool and authoritative came out slightly unsure. _The... The power of the mystic? Eh_—_Inner strength...? A-a-a staff of wonder and ruin...? Is this the power you choose?_

Jak shrugged. He was never one for fancy talk—he was just going to bop people with it. Rather than say it, he just muttered, "Yeah."

_Very well._ The club vanished. _Now, which will you give up?_

_"_Well." Jak looked from the sword to the shield, "Everyone always says the best defense is a good offense, and I've never been given a reason to disagree, so..." He gripped the handle. This time, the voice did not sound too shocked. _The power of the guardian. Kindness to aid friends. A shield to repel all. Is this the power you give up?_

"Yeah." Jak replied casually. It vanished, too, "Weird."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jak saw a shadow glide across the glass. He turned towards it, and it stopped. It had a definite shape to it, like whatever owned it was directly above it though Jak could not see it, a round head that was much larger than its body, willowy, pointed fingers, solid, pointed feet with no toes, and a pair of all-seeing yellow eyes. He took a long moment to observe those eyes. They glowed, the yellow from them shone onto the tips of his boots, and his hand when he stretched it out. He reached down and touched it, but all he felt was glass. The shadow jumped suddenly and went away, then circled him. Two more showed up.

"These things?" he asked, "These are the new threat? I can't possibly be afraid of them! They're so..."

Something sharp, like a set of claws, swiped across his back. Jak threw himself forward and caught himself on his hand, gasping a little in shock and pain. It was just a dream, right? How could this hurt him? He looked back as one of the shadow-creatures finished its arch in the air and landed on the glass floor, this time with depth. It looked around, twitching as it did so, hunching down like a scared animal that some horrible person had given too many stimulants, and focused on him again.

The club appeared in his hand. It was light weight. He balanced the long grip in his hand and bounced the head of it against his left palm. Too light to do any real damage. It was so strangely shaped. It reminded him of something, but he could not figure out what, exactly. For the time being, it looked like two smaller circles stuck to one larger one, like a little drawing of a water molecule, but why would _that_ be on a club?

_It's a staff._

"Same thing."

A second one had moved now. It had cozied right up to him and had clawed at his boot. Jak hardly felt it this time, but he was not about to underestimate it again. The marks on his back still stung from the first one. He kicked it away. He reminded himself that the pain was just as fake as everything else, and not to be afraid.

_You should be afraid._ The voice whispered too him.

"Well I'm not." He said. He reached for his gun, but could not find it. "Where is my gun?"

_Useless._ The voice answered. _It's useless._

But at least he had the club. He swung at the first one that came to him, and the staff made it go a small distance, but it did not seem to do much damage. It righted itself and came right back for him.

"Well this is yakshit."

_You should have taken the sword!_

"I don't know how to _use_ a sword!"

_You don't have the right disposition for magic! Oh, this is terrible!_

Jak continued to hack away at the shadows as they came at him, then he realized, this was only a dream, he could just wake up. He tried.

And he failed. Weeks of 'suddenly back in prison' nightmares had made him _good_ at getting himself out of bad dreams, but this time, it just was not happening. While he was frozen in place, trying to wake up, about six of the little monsters jumped on him and pinned him down, all while the voice gained more and more emotion by the second, and was wailing on about how the world was lost to the "Heartless" because no one could go the distance.

"These things are _heavy!"_

_What is it about this world that fails to produce pure-hearted people? Where did we go wrong?_

The creatures were now fusing and melding together to form a pool of blackness at his feet, but this time, the glass did not remain, and he was pulled down into it, about to his knees, and it sucked him in slowly. Much slower than Dark Eco would, and this did not sear and burn like Eco, this was cold, and more misty. Man, this was a weird dream.

The darkness grew to cover the entire platform, and on the other side, a huge thing emerged. It had yellow eyes, just like the little shadows had, but this one was much more human in appearance, with a beard and hair. There was also a gaping heart-shaped hole in its chest.

It reached out for Jak, who tried vainly to swing it away, but the hand was larger than he was, and it over powered him, pushing him completely into the darkness around his legs.

Jak sat upright so fast he nearly bumped his head onto the bunk above him. He stopped just in time—this would not have been the first time it happened, after all. His eyes found Daxter, also awake, laying in his little makeshift hammock. Jak had strung a green scrap of cloth between the wire frame supporting the mattress above them, and that was where he slept in the warmer months when body heat was not so desirable. He looked just as miserable and shaken as Jak was himself, like he had a strange dream of his own.

He faked his smile, "G'morning."

Jak donned a mask, "Mornin'."

Neither one asked how the other slept. Daxter settled in for a few more minutes of sleep while Jak got up to shower and put on fresh clothes.

He did not like living in the underground's HQ, not really, but it was cheaper than his own apartment, and no one would lease to a wanted criminal. Even if he had just saved the city. He found clean clothes in his locker, but not enough coins for the laundromat. He heaved a sigh, shrugged it off, and headed for the showers. They were about as private as they could be while still being communal. He did not like public baths—holdover from his days in prison—but the metal walls hastily (and poorly) bolted into the tile floor made a world of difference.

They could not stop sound, though.

"I had the weirdest dream last night!"

"N-no kidding?"

Jak inwardly groaned and squeezed his blue eyes shut. He did not want to hear it. They fell silent, completely unrelated to his self-contained outburst, and an awkward, drawn pause followed. In the furthest corner, someone dropped a bar of soap and it slid all the way down to the shared drain.

"Yeah." The first man said. "No kidding."

And just like that, the subject was dropped. This caught Jak's attention. He straightened up again and looked towards them, but he but he did not demand they share this weird dream. That would be rude. He finished washing up in silence, dried off and changed clothes. Trimmed his goatee, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair.

And combed his hair.

And combed his hair.

And he could not shake it.

He felt like he was being watched. A chill ran up his spine as he though he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a pair of yellow eyes in the darkness under the lockers. He saw a fluid blur of orange soon after, and it stopped where he thought he saw the eyes. Daxter straightened up and put his paws on his hips, "Hey, big guy!" he dropped on all fours again and moved closer. His tone changed, grew more gentle. Could he sense that Jak was still worried? "Torn's got a job for us, and he looks extra pissy today."

His sass and enthusiasm were both faked. He looked so tired. Everything _felt_ tired. The very air seemed heavy with everyone's shared worry. He shut everything away inside his locker and knelt down so Daxter could climb on to his shoulder. He could feel it everywhere. He was not even sure what _it_ was. It might be a mix of everything, but it permeated down to the Eco. And it scared him.

Torn looked just as drawn as the rest of them. He was standing at the table, like he always was, staring down at the map of the city, his hands on either side of it, but he did not seem to be looking at it. There was something wild about the way he looked this morning, his blue eyes were glazed over, and his brown hair, which normally stayed back without an issue, was frizzy and unkempt, like he had tossed a lot in his sleep, and there was an uncharacteristic paleness in his tanned skin.

He was actually staring at his _phone_ with that glazed look. It was open and dead center on the map. Jak did not know how many numbers he had on that phone. Had he called someone?

"Torn."

Torn did not respond.

"Dax said you had a mission for us?"

He blinked and muttered, "The Wasteland."

"_WHAT?!" _Daxter demanded, it was not faked at all. He hopped down, and got between Torn and his phone; furry mug to tattooed face, "You want us to risk our butts _out there?_ What for?"

Torn jumped back, blinked, and shook his head, "Not just _you_." He said, "Sig. You'll meet him at the Hip Hog—"

"It's the Naughty Ottsel!"

Torn shouted through a gate of teeth, "—_What! Ever!_ Just meet him there and go investigate a reading the research team picked up! We think its surviving Metalheads. Get rid of 'em before they get a new leader."

"Right." Jak said. He took Daxter by the scruff of the neck and placed him on his shoulder. He snatched up his morph gun by the stairs and headed on up into the alley way. He did not bother with stealing a vehicle. One of the good things about Keira's JET board was that he could use it to travel the city without committing any crimes. He went a bit slower, but there were fewer mistakes to be made traveling so low and so much slower.

Of course, there were more voices to hear.

"And was there?"

"Yes! Yes there was!"

Jak glanced up at Daxter on his shoulder, his head followed the pair, ears swiveling to hear more talk of dreams. His eyes snapped to Jak, who faced forward immediately.

"What do you mean it was _her_ instead of _me?"_

"Look, Babe, it was just a dream, right?"_  
_

He hovered on, scanning the faces of everyone he passed. They all seemed so worried, and Jak wondered if everyone had all had the same dream. How could everyone have the same dream? How? He stopped. He had too. There was an early-morning jam in front of him and he had to find the best way to go either over or around without upsetting any of the KG. He could smell coffee and it reminded him that he had not eaten yet today. He could go for a coffee. He would have to hurry up with Sig today. He could grab lunch with Keira.

"And the eyes!"

"So unsettling!"

"And that giant... Giant _thing."_

Jak looked at Daxter again. The Ottsel starred past him, with a glazed, worried look.

"But who was it?"

"Not who. It was—"

Jak did not hear. He saw an opening and he went for it, ducking under one car and hopping over the next, and clearing it, and they were moving on again. They went down to the port, where the glowing orange Ottsel stood there, cocky and proud. Inside, there was Tess. Just Tess. She was wiping down the counter, but she did not appear too worried. She looked strangely chipper. Then again, she was _always_ chipper.

Daxter put on his fake glee again, but he was good at faking it. He jumped off of Jak's shoulder, and bounded off of the tables, sliding to the bar right in front of her. "Tess baby!"

The blonde put on big smile and scooped him up, "Good morning my little cuddlebun." Jak rolled his eyes. "I dreamed about you."

Daxter kept laying it on thick. "I dreamed about you too, precious."

She hugged him close, "Oooh, and what were we doing, teddy bear?"

If Daxter had had the same dream as Jak, and perhaps as the rest of Haven City, he did not breathe a word of it, not even to Tess, "You tell me first, choochy-face."

"I'll just wait outside." Jak muttered. Neither one noticed him. He went out—he would leave Daxter to his bar, it was fine. The little guy deserved some time to unwind; there was no reason to drag him out into the Wasteland. He leaned against the wall by the door and shoved his hands in his pockets. He thought about eating again, and then he thought about calling Keira to set up that lunch date. He needed to get some practice on the racing zoomer. She had tuned it up a few days ago, and he still had not tried it out.

He checked the sky. Over the wall, he could see the cusp of a storm brewing, really dark clouds moving along in a slow circle. It did not look particularly dangerous. He waited ten, maybe twelve, minutes. Then Sig came around, looking big, dark, and burly in his big, dark, and burly hover-car. He stared to lower it down and park but Jak just hopped into it.

His one green eye gave him a once over, "No Daxter?"

Jak looked towards the bar, "Nah."

Sig shrugged and the two zoomed off again, over the port, heading in the direction of the clouds. Sig did not bring them up. Jak tried to make a little conversation, "You really think its metal heads?"

"Hope so." He said, "Don't really want to imagine anything worse."

He was right. Jak rested his chin on his hand as they went over the port and turned around, still heading in the direction of the clouds, but not on a direct course. Jak had better view now. He saw a flash of lightning, "Storm's coming." He said.

"That so?" Sig looked for himself, "So it is. We better wrap this up quick. Looks like it's near where we're headed."

"Thunderstorms in the desert?"

"Sand _and_ thunderstorm in the desert. This is just the edge of the Wasteland. Storms get pretty nasty out there."

Jak tried once again to shake that bad feeling off. Waking up with paranoia was one thing, letting it get to him for the entire day was even worse. He had to stop it.

Sig parked the zoomer by an unassuming little building, and the two went inside. Inside, it looked somewhat official, with a clerk's desk on one side and the entrance to a tunnel on the other. The desk had the KG insignia on it, but the woman behind the desk was probably not KG. She looked far too intellectual, with her hair pulled back into a tight twist.

"Heading outside today?"

"Yeah."

She looked at Sig, and pushed her glasses up her nose. They slid right back down again. She looked at Jak, then to a wanted poster of Jak, and looked back at her paperwork. Even she was nervous.

"You work with the KG?" Jak hissed as they headed towards the tunnel.

"Freelance." Sig replied flatly.

The tunnel lead to a single Eco-powered trolley big enough to fit a small team of scientists and an escort of Krimson Guards, it was empty, though. Jak and Sig sat on opposite sides of the trolley, and did not look at each other, until the trolley came to a slow, screeching stop and Sig nodded for him to head out. Jak followed, until they reached the ladder heading up, and his phone rang.

He took it out and he expected it to be Daxter, _Why'd you leave me behind, big guy? I don't want to coddle with Tess all day here!_ But it was Keira. He smiled a bit, a little of the pressing, bad feeling went away, "Hey."

"Jak..." Keira sounded worried, "Jak, don't go out today. Come to the garage."

The bad feeling came right back. "W-why?"

"I have a bad feeling." She said, "I really do, Jak."

"I'm already out. I..." she'd worry more if he told her the truth, "I'm at the pumping station, I—"

"Oh no." she whimpered. Her voice got shrill and small, "Jak, please come back."

"I'll be there later. Maybe an hour, hour and a half."

"Jak, I'm _terrified_."

"Why?" He asked, but he knew why. He glanced up, everything seemed pretty calm up top, so he backed away to keep the conversation from echoing up, "What's wrong?"

Her reply was delayed. Her voice was smaller than ever before, he wanted to claim he had misheard her, because what she said chilled him to the bone.

"I had a strange dream last night."

"No."

"It's fading." She said, "Yellow eyes just... Just staring at me. Jak, please."

_Yellow eyes._

"Just sit tight, Keira, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Now."

"As soon as I can." He hung up, and that bad, pressing feeling intensified. His stomach churned at he felt like he was not even there. He felt nauseous. He gripped the phone tightly in one hand, and tried to focus on the secure and hefty weight of his gun on his back. He tucked the phone away and gripped the ladder. Sig's dark face appeared in the hole above him.

"Get you skinny ass up here!"

Jak hurried up the ladder into the little outpost. They were on the very edge of the wasteland, just like Sig had said. It looked like the storm had spread to the entirety of the wasteland, the clouds had spread, and there was lightning jump from cloud to cloud and down to the ground. Everyone there was in a state of reserved panic. Too panicked to even notice them. Everything was being pulled to the wasteland, the sand, the rocks, the trees bowed down to it, even the _light,_ it seemed.

"Looks like a tornado."

Even Jak knew that was a lie. It was a straight-up vortex. There was an eerie, sickly light in those clouds; it was a sight he wished he had never seen.

His phone rang again. It was Torn this time. "We're getting everyone into the palace."

"Why?"

Torn minced no words: "What did you dream last night?"

"You can't be serious."

There was a flash of light from the clouds, more powerful than any simple lightning bolt, and a black mist-like aura began to filter out. Whole sections of the ground came up. Trees were uprooted.

"No one's going out there!" a short little man shouted at Sig, "No one is going outside. We're getting into the trolley; we're heading back to the city. It's too dangerous out here!"

"There is an entire _cit_—"

"_It's pulling up the ground._" The scientist shouted back, "Whatever is out there, I'm sorry, the KG can do without it. It's lost."

There was another powerful flash, the building cracked, and the ground outside split open. Everything pitched, and Jak lost his balance, accidentally hanging up on Torn.

"If the world is ending, you can do what you want, but I'd like to find my family."

"Sig, he's right." Jak came to the man's defense, "This isn't Metalheads. It's something else. We need to go."

Sig looked towards the storm. There was a gaping chasm that was heading towards them, "Go." He shouted, "Everyone go." They all managed to cram back into the trolley; Jak took his gun from his back and stood closest to the door. He switched to the Vulcan barrel. Whatever they were facing, he would mow down as many as he could, and get as many people to the palace as he could. The tunnel was collapsing behind them.

And Jak was understandably terrified.

Where were Daxter and Tess? Had they made it to the palace? Torn must have, and Ashelin was already there. He looked back at the collapsing tunnel. It was still far behind, falling progressive further behind them. They would at least make it into the city wall. The trolley stopped, and no sooner had the doors opened than they had all rushed out on to the platform, and began hurrying up the ladder. Sirens were blaring, a signal for everyone to make their way to whatever shelter they could find. Jak kicked the door to the outside open and started shooting.

The creatures from his dream were everywhere, climbing up the buildings, climbing down the city wall. "Keep together!" he heard Sig shout, "And _run._"

There were too many to try to fit into one car, and no cars that were in any condition to work. They had all driven to the palace, and any that were left behind were wrecked and covered with the shadow creatures. The Vulcan ammo ripped through them, whatever they were, and Sig's peacemaker could take out large swaths of them at once. They were not even all that far from the palace.

But damn, they were everywhere!

Jak began to worry again.

He was running out of Vulcan ammunition. He switched to the scatter gun, which was nowhere near as effective, and then to the blaster, which worked, but was slower. They were about half way by that time. Sig had no more shots left, and he could not fend off all of them.

Running worked, except for the fact that they kept tripping over the very things they were meant to be fleeing form.

By the time the palace doors were in sight, there was a perimeter around it that kept the creatures back and allowed them a safe and smooth transition to the inside. The palace was filled with refugees, it was standing room only. Jak pushed himself from room to room, looking for Daxter, Torn, anyone who could give him some answers. He found a single guard, and demanded, "Where are Torn and Ashelin?"

"Waiting for you." He replied, "Top floor."

He jerked the head of his staff to the elevator. Jak took it without question. Was it just Torn and Aselin? He fumbled for his phone in the elevator and dialed Keira's number. She did not pick up. He snapped it shut, leaned his head back, and took a deep breath to calm himself. Daxter had to be up there. Keira had to be up there. They were up there. They had to be.

The doors opened and he came out to see Daxter, Ashelin and Torn standing around an electronic map of the city, planning a strategy. Onin sat a ways off, Pecker in his dish on her head. He saw no Samos. He saw no Keira. They looked relieved to see him. Daxter jumped off the table, swung up to his arm and climbed to his shoulder, "Jak, I thought I'd never see you again, buddy!"

To reassure himself that Daxter was there, he placed a hand on his side, curling his fingers around his back, "Where is Keira? Samos?"

Torn did not sugar coat it, "The things came in through the port and water slums. They pushed every one this way, but they cut off the racing stadium. We've got people trapped there. They're trapped with them."

"You have to get them out."

"We can't." Ashelin replied. "There are too many, and we're doing all we can to keep them out of the palace."

"Sig and I came though that and survived. You telling me you can't?"

"I'm telling you it's not worth it. You're the best we've got."

"And I'm going to rescue my friends." He spat back, he turned on his heel, then stopped and looked at Daxter. He picked him up and took him off his shoulder, "Daxter, you should stay here."

"Hell no!" he shouted right in Jak's ear. He clawed madly for Jak's metal spaulder, until he managed to get free of his hand and back on. He righted himself and dug his claws in to his skin through the fabric and glared at him, "Tess went out there and pulled the same crap! I'm not letting you leave me behind twice in the same day, buddy! It's not even noon yet!"

"You sure?"

"I've stuck with you through two too many apocalypses for you to ask a dumb question like that!" he dug his claws in more and hunkered down, "We're still the demolition duo!"

Jak gave him a little nod and stepped into elevator again, "I'm getting more ammo."

He went down into the basement, where other weapons and equipment were stored. He stocked up on everything while Daxter waited impatiently on his shoulder. When everything was loaded and the gun was back on its Vulcan setting, he headed out to the elevator again, and he elbowed his way outside of the confused and terrified mob of civilians.

It was freezing cold and dark outside. The stars were gone. The air was thin. Papers and flags and lighter objects were being pulled along and picked up by the vortex. He could feel the ground shaking. He asked, "Why the hell did Tess go out?"

"Because people were trapped in the stadium, and she's five foot four and can take care of herself!" Daxter replied almost bitterly. "She's got her guns, she's got her fancy new blade—"

Tess must have designed some kind of sword. A bit odd for her, but she could branch out if she wanted too. They hit the thick of it now, so Jak tuned him out, and concentrated on navigating the JET board thought the sea of yellow-eyed shadows towards the stadium. He could not just mow through them, he had to save his ammunition for the trip back, but that was not a particularly good strategy for getting those people to the palace. He had no idea how many there were. He could not escort too many people, it just was not practical.

Daxter grabbed ahold of his ear and yanked, "WILL YOU OPEN YOUR EYES AND TAKE A LOOK AROUND?!" Daxter shrieked, "Look, Jak, will you just—friggen—_look!"_

The wall was crumbling close to the vortex behind them. Larger debris were moving now, he leaned forward and crouched down to keep from being sucked away. Houses were being pulled away and sucked in. It was growing so quickly now, flickering and pulsing and glowing with all the light it had stolen away. There was a deafening, twining, metallic snap from above, and then a crumbling noise. One of the support towers for the palace—there was another one—two of the support towers from the palace had given way.

He heard the palace buckling and groaning, but it did not look like it was going to fall. It would hold itself up. It had to, just for a little bit. They were almost there. It was going to fall! He looked back. Everyone inside was going to be killed. "Keep an eye on it, Dax."

"They'll never be able to evacuate in time!"

"Just make sure it doesn't fall on us." He said.

He went to the right. It would be a longer way to the stadium, but that was fine. Whatever got him there alive. There was a third twining snap from across the city, and the very sound was almost sucked in by the black hole. It did not matter. They could see the garage now. Between it and them, there was a field of black and yellow, spreading across the plaza. Jak saw a few of them go flying, and looked to the source. He saw Tess, hacking her way through them elegantly, gracefully, like she had been born to do it. There was, exactly like Daxter had said, a sword in her hand, but it was strangely shaped. Really, it was more of an axe than a sword, from what Jak could see—and that was very little.

Jak kicked the JET board up, started skimming over the shadow creatures. He reached out his hand, his other hand gripping the JET board around the edge fingers burning in the heat from the engine, anchoring himself to it so he could grab Tess and pull her out of the mob—Get her to the stadium, get her to _Keira_ just a little bit faster. Seconds counted.

And then that void drew one final, all-consuming breath.

* * *

Also, I'm still sorry that is a text-anvil.


	2. Chapter 1

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

This one sort of bleeds into FFVII and BBS.

I'd move it at this point but I still want people to actually _see it._

* * *

Chapter One:

Aerith sat under a colorful, thick quit on a big, comfy chair by a nice, roaring fire with a warm, soothing mug of chamomile tea. It was late, but perfect. The moon was high and glowing; there was a little cloud-cover, and that nice hint of lullaby-like rain to lull her to sleep. On the floor above her, the others were all settling down, too. It was curfew. Normally, she was sure they would complain, but it was Leon's rule, so fussing would not do much. Not like curfew mattered to the Heartless, though, it was not meant to keep people from going out at night, just from going out _alone._

She took a sip of tea. The others preferred spirits to send them to sleep, when they needed it, but for her, the tea was just fine, the tea and a nice old book of spells and incantations which she would probably never be skilled enough to use, but it was nice for her to dream, and it was nice that she actually had reading material available, the others could only lay there sleepless.

She cracked the book open, and wished her quilt had sleeves. She took another sip of—

"NYEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!"

Aerith, for a very brief moment, almost spit her tea out over the old and priceless tome. _No!_ She told herself, _No you musn't do that! _She managed to swallow it in one mass—more like a stone than tea—while a storm of expletives raged on above her and the screams persistently wailed outside. She set her cup down and closed her book.

"HOLY FUCKING BAHAMUT WHAT THE SHIT IS THAT?" Yuffie shrieked.

"We should check it out."

"NO!" Yuffie exclaimed, "No, no, no! I'm staying right here!"

Aerith shook like a leaf while she hop-snuck on her toes to the window, quilt wrapped tightly around her still. She cupped her hands around her eyes and peered out from between the curtains. She saw nothing out of the ordinary; she just heard the pounding ruckus and the ear-splitting shrieking. Lights were being lit in bedroom windows and on front porches, and doors were already opening.

She saw something flickering in the bailey, a dim, purple light. Aerith looked closer. It flashed brightly, and lightning shot out, burning craggy lines in the brick and sending little stones flying. She flung herself away from the window, shrieking briefly. Cloud and Leon were coming from down the stairs, boots half-on and jackets barely on at all, and Cid was climbing out of the basement. He was at least dressed. Aerith stepped into her boots and took a cardigan from where she had casually thrown it the day before on a chair. They straightened themselves out in chaos—buttons could always sense haste—and scrambled for their weapons as the screaming continued.

"Come _on,_ Yuffie!"

Yuffie ran down the stairs in her over-sized nightshirt. She had put on shorts under it, but had completely forgone shoes or socks—and considering the lacing she had to do, Aerith did not blame her. "Okay, okay, I'm coming!"

"It's in the Bailey, whatever it is." Aerith explained, reaching for the door and throwing it open.

"Flashlight!" Yuffie shouted, "Flashlight!"

"Got it." Cid replied shining it in her face, "Go."

The roaring continued, and as they left the house, they could hear loud crashing and banging, like there was a full-fledged _brawl_ going down in the bailey. The faint drizzle had begun to pick up, but it was nothing too hindering. They hurried up the stairs to the wall, and down the stairs into the bailey which was out of the faint rain, but echoing with the sounds of the fight, in the faint light of the stars and the beam of Cid's flashlight, they got as clear a view of what was going on as possible.

A clear understanding was a completely different thing.

It—regretfully, that was all Aerith could call it for the time being—could have been a Heartless, but considering it was mercilessly pounding every Heartless that came near it, that seemed unlikely. It was in the throes of an unstoppable rage, whatever it was, and it did not look remotely close to tiring out or slowing down. It barely even stood still long enough for them to get a good look at it. Not to mention it was spewing lightning around like a thundaga gone wrong and they were getting hit with second-hand destruction and Heartless while they were just trying to avoid the bolts of electricity.

One of these bolts of electricity leaped into the gunblade and into Leon's arm, igniting the powder and making it discharge dangerously close to Cloud's head. He did not flinch. The zap sent a painful jolt up his arm and forced Leon to drop the weapon. He gripped his wrist and his face contorted in pain, that was all Aerith saw before Cid's light jumped again just in time for her to see a Heartless about to swipe its claws across her face. She slapped it away, and realized with a twinge of guilt and shock that she sent it on a collision course with Yuffie, who hardly saw it coming.

In the spastic spotlight of Cid's electric torch, Aerith saw a pair of very human-like boots jump up, then it threw itself full-force against the bailey floor, knocking them all backwards into the wall and stairs. She gasped and blinked. At least the flashlight had fallen still. Her ears rang with the impact and she was winded. The onslaught had just stopped after that. Everything was dark and still and impossibly quiet.

"Is everyone—" Oh! Her chest! "Okay?"

"What _was_ that thing?" Leon hissed, "Are there any more of them?"

The light moved, and Cid replied, "That right there is what it is."

Aerith sat up and her eyes found the light shining to the end of the bailey. Cid stood a few yards ahead of her, scratching his blond head. Yuffie was on her knees, probably glad she had put on a pair of shorts, but wishing she had shoes. Leon staggered to his feet, still trying to breathe and feeling around for his gun blade, Cloud was leaning on the Buster Sword, and he said flatly, "It's a kid."

"So it is." Cid replied.

The "kid" in question had collapsed to his knees, his arms wrapped around his head, nails clawing into his skull and fingers bunching his hair. Aerith got to her feet and hurried towards him. He was out cold, frozen catatonic; his outburst must have been a delayed reaction to being thrown through the darkness and into the Hollow Bastion. The first things she noticed were his ears, from tip to tip, they spanned even further than the breadth of his shoulders. She reached up to touch one tip, there was a slight nick about two, perhaps two and a half inches down, and a series of symbols, like an identification number—perhaps a name?—starting right next to it. The flesh itself felt somewhat like cartilage, with tiny, slightly-harder ribs suspended inside it, and a longer bone stretching though the upper edge, rather like a wing. When the light from Cid's flashlight caught it, she could see these bones faintly though the red.

Carefully, she unwound his arms from his head, she had to apply a great deal of force, everything was tensed up—his muscles had become stone. She freed him, eventually. But his hands were still stuck in that claw-like grip, and his mouth was still set in a grimace.

The others moved in, the light shown brighter, casting a clearer mold to his features. Aerith lowered him down, cradling his shoulders in her arms, brushed the blond hair from his forehead. The stone-like coma vanished and he relaxed completely, almost melting into the ground. His head slumped back, looking at the bailey ceiling. When she moved her free hand in front of his eyes, he showed no sign of seeing it, though his eyes were fully open. They were blue. The same blue as Sora's eyes. An unnatural blue.

"I don't think he's more than seventeen." She said. She adjusted her hold on him—his head just would not support itself. She had to mind it for him, like a newborn. When he was out cold, at least, his face looked full and young, but there were two lines of blood that had trickled down from his hair, and formed a little 'v' between his eyebrows, and dirt and blood had clustered around the creases in his face, so they showed clear and clean in the beam of Cid's flashlight. But other than that, Aerith saw no trace of them, only their ghosts, like he had spent the most recent years of his life glaring and trying very hard to look older. She searched his hair and found two long gashes just above his eyes, not cracks in the skull, though, there were two small horns protruding from them.

When he breathed, it was rasping and bubbling, and little bit of blood ran from the tiny gap between his lips. Aerith forced his mouth open and saw cuts on his gums as well, the same thing had happened to his cuticles. His fingers were longer than the average person's, too, and his hands were wider.

"What are we dealing with here?"

"Maybe Merlin will know." She replied. She waved her hand over him, and the gashes knitted themselves, leaving no scars, no trace of anything, but there were old scars, cuts that had healed up ages ago into neat little white lines. There was something they had missed. Something the poor lighting had not allowed them to see. This was not the first time something like that had happened to him.

Cloud and Leon hoisted him from her lap and half-dragged him at the head of the party back to their shared house. His arms are long; his fingertips down to his knees. It was bizarre to see, he was so much shorter than Cloud and Leon, but his arms were so long. It was strange and fascinating. He was a whole other species. Merlin would be so intrigued.

She kicked something in the darkness. It bounced and abruptly discharged one round, which went sailing out the large window and did not hurt a soul, it just made everyone jump and bring a fresh storm of panic to the surface. She stooped over and tried to lift it up, but it was too heavy for her. Cid handed her the flashlight and hoisted it up himself, and they resumed walking. The boy's head moved once, but that was it. He was otherwise completely indisposed.

Climbing the stairs was awkward with his toes dragging, and the rain had started to come down a little harder when they left the bailey, it filled the fresh cracks in the walkway and made the stones slippery, and pulled the moon behind clouds, so they could hardly see, except for Cid's flashlight.

"Are we taking him to Merlin's now or are we waiting until morning?" Cloud asked.

"Now." Leon replied, shifting the boy's weight on his shoulders, "Whatever he did before—I don't want him doing it again until we have some answers."

They went past their door to Merlin's, except for Cid, who took the gun away to study it, and Yuffie who wanted to get some sleep. Leon kicked Merlin's door four times and waited for the old wizard to answer. When he did, his glasses were askew, with a thumbprint on the left lens, and his beard was tangled.

"What was that ruckus, Leon, what's going on?"

Leon nodded to the kid. Merlin adjusted his spectacles and looked him over slowly, from dragging toe to long, pointed ear, "I say!"

"We were hoping you had some answers?"

"Bring him in, bring him in!"

They dragged him inside sideways, while out of his bag of holding, Merlin found a spare cot to lay him on. Somewhat clumsily, they set him down on it, and stood back so Merlin could get a good look at him, "He's not from around here."

"Yes." Leon replied dryly.

"He's got something here." Aerith motioned Merlin over to his ear, where the markings were. Merlin stared at them, then took off his glasses and squinted, then stared through his glasses again.

"What does it say?"

"No idea." Merlin shrugged, Aerith heard the too door slam. Cloud and Leon had left to tell the block to calm down, that nothing was wrong, reassuring things like that. Merlin gave her a smile and said, "You run along now, dear, get some rest. You'll have a busy day tomorrow, showing him around."

"Why me?"

He took her by the elbow and forced her out, "You have the most trustworthy face, I'm afraid."

He was right. She was small and unassuming, a gentle creature, the kind of person strangers always asked for directions and children loved to play with. She should probably even stay, in case he woke up, but at least he did not have his gun to cause too much trouble. She looked at him—he did not look to be sleeping, he still looked to be in a faint. He was passed out completely, and that was the normal reaction to traveling through the darkness—but someone who was new at it would not come out fighting so fiercely. Perhaps he had some knowledge of the Heartless?

He did not seem like the kind of person that would hurt Merlin.

As she walked back to her house, the lights went off on the porches and upstairs, leaving only the street lamps lit. She moved quickly, to avoid the attention of the Heartless, but after the boy's display, they were probably cowering in fear. For once, Aerith felt sorry for them. She glanced back at Merlin's house, and tried to assure herself that the old man could handle whatever the boy threw at him.

As Aerith opened the door, she saw Yuffie diving for cover and Cid stepping to the side as Leon fumbled with the stranger's gun. Cloud did not move. Aerith looked at the gun, and she may have been mistaken, but she could have sworn it had changed within the past ten minutes.

"Oh." Leon said, he blinked, and adjusted his grip, pulling back on something that slid in a grove—and the entire gun changed. "Hello."

They moved in closer, Leon managed to get it to change again, and again, so that the simple side cannon—more of a blunderbuss—was back. He cycled through the forms of the gun once more, examining each one in turn, and removing the cartridges of bullets as they popped up. Cid took it away from him, and set it down at the table like a kid with a new toy, which was exactly what it was. "Go get my tools."

Leon pulled up a chair and Aerith knew any hope of light reading would be lost to boys and their toys. Yuffie came back from the basement with the tools and sat down as well, chin resting on her hands. She took one cartridge from Leon, a round one, about little larger than a baseball, with a purple ring around it, and a small gauge of screwdriver, and began to work on the little screws she could see.

"Screws recede." She said.

"Thanks." Leon replied, who looked to be having trouble with a blue-and-black cartridge of his own. He took out about two screws when the bottom blasted away from the rest, striking clean through the table and the floor, and the top popped off and bounced off the ceiling. Leon jumped back at once with a loud, "Ah."

When a few shell cases tumbled out, and one split open, and what looked like a little ball of blue lightning danced across the table. Cid lifted up the gun before the ball lightning could touch it. It eventually settled in the center of the table, and gave off a little humming noise.

"Wow!" Yuffie sat up.

"It looks like mako."

"It _has_ to be mako." Yuffie replied.

"That ain't mako." Cid said. He nudged with his finger, and it jumped to his hand, and he drew it back abruptly, like it had shocked him, "We'd better get it in a jar or something."

Aerith got a clean glass jar from the kitchen, and used a metal spatula to sweep it all up, she set it down and screwed the lid on securely, the others went back to their tinkering. Cid dismantled the gun piece by piece with enthusiasm.

"It's mighty clever. Uses a morph gummi."

"Been a while sense we've seen one of those." Yuffie replied. She set down the ammo clip and leaned forward while Cid removed one piece after the next and revealed the little gummi center. The entire exterior was either metal or polycarbon, depending on the piece. It was an exoskeleton around a soft, moldable center, that allowed the gun to change shape so seamlessly.

"But Cid, we've never been able to get gummi to work like this with another material. It rejects almost everything."

Engines and guns could be encased _in_ gummi, but never the other way around, not so easily, at least. Aerith circled the table to get a better look.

"They aren't attached." Cid replied, "Metal's all hinged and fitted around it."

"I see."

Leon started laying out all of the pieces in an orderly fashion, sorting out all of the freed screws according to sizes, and he broke another one of the black and blue bullets open, dropping a second little ball of blue lightning into the jar. The two danced around each other for just a second, and then they melded together, and stayed together, even when Leon shook the jar. He winced and peeled off his glove, looking at his injured hand.

A little branching Lichtenburg figure was on his palm, spreading down his wrist about two inches. It would have looked fine and completely normal despite the fact that it was a deep, muddy, blue-purple. He flexed his hand twice and seemed to deem it fine, then he reached with that hand to the purple and black cartridge Yuffie held and there was that purple light again, and an unsettling zapping sound. Leon dropped the cartridge and it popped open, and another mako-like substance bounced out, but this one seemed to behave a little bit more like a gel or a liquid.

"I don't think we should touch that."

"I'll get another jar." Aerith replied.

"Thank you."

"Oh!" Yuffie laughed in fear, "Oh, please hurry Aerith we'll be with out a table if this keeps up.!"

Aerith managed to catch it in the jar immediately after it scorched another hole in the table and went into the floor. It was like an acid. She doubted, for a moment, that the glass would be able to hold it. It filled the jar like a fluid, not persistent ball-lightning. She screwed the lid on tight and held two fingers against the side. The glass had gone quite cold. She tilted the jar from left to right. It was halfway between unrefined oil and a thin gel, so far as viscosity was concerned, but when it moved, it left no residue on the glass. She looked at the blue in her left hand, and the dark stuff in her right, and held the two jars close.

They fought like Betta fish, the blue bouncing around violently and the dark stuff pulsing wildly, the glass heated up and threatened to crack with the energy. Fearing she was about to end the world in a stupid and untimely manner, she set the two jars down, well away from any stray elbows and well away from each other on the mantle.

"Aerith get another jar!" Yuffie said, "Oh, get two."

Aerith did as she was told.

"We'll need to tell Merlin about this."

"You _could_ just wait to talk to him. Are you sure you should be dismantling his only weapon?" Cloud asked.

"We'll have it back together by noon tomorrow." Cid replied.

"Besides, we have an entire closet of weapons."

Aerith cleared away two more versions of the stuff, red and yellow. They were both a bit like the blue—ball lightning, but the red was a bit more smoky and the yellow a bit more like fire, and both were very warm to the touch. They looked kind of interesting on the mantle; they made a good conversation ensemble—probably would have made wonderful light sources. She took the blue and moved it into the darkness of her room. It was about as strong as three candles, and produced none of the smoke.

The boy must have some knowledge of them, anyone who owned and used a gun was obligated to know it inside and out, a lack of knowledge was wholly irresponsible and posed a danger to yourself and anyone you were trying to help.

She adjusted the jars to the arrangement of colors was balanced and pleasing, blue then red then yellow then purple, which would hopefully keep the eye at the center. A nice, warm-toned painting would be perfect for framing them, but, she had bigger things on her mind, like the boy. She folded up the quilt and slung it over the back of the chair. Leon and Cid were debating some function of the gun, but she knew she need to get some shut eye, because there was no guarantee that that boy would wake with the morning.

So, if he woke at two in the morning, or at six, or even at noon, she would probably need to be well-rested, "I'm going to go on and get to bed."

"I promise we'll keep it down." Cid replied.

"Night."

With a little wave to them all, Aerith closed the door behind her. She stripped off her cardigan and kicked off her shoes. She settled in under the covers, but she could still hear the others murmuring. She did not sleep for a while, perhaps she laid there for half an hour or more, but it was so early in the night still, she did not worry too much about not drifting off right away.

She did not even notice she had fallen to sleep at first—it was just another long walk in the public garden with Zack to her—where the rows of flowers stretched on forever and the sun never moved in the sky and the trees towered above the wall in a distance she would never reach. They laughed. She blushed. His fingers grazed her knuckles and he fumbled for words. They stopped, and just gazed into each other's eyes, diving into endless depths and—

"NEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—!"

Rise and shine.

* * *

Ok, that one was short. Oh well. It's not getting much of a response, anyway.

Which is very unfortunate. This is damn comprehensive for a cross over.

Still hella fun to write, tho.


	3. Chapter 2

Taking Orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed.)

* * *

Chapter two:

Jak's entire body hurt. The bed he was on felt like he was back in prison, and he reminded himself that that was not possible. He told himself he was in the underground's hideout, or maybe sleeping in a booth in the Naughty Ottsel. Probably with a hangover.

_Nope_. His memory blithely reminded him. Jak's eyes snapped open and he fumbled off of the cot. He would have preferred _prison _to the memories that were rushing back to him. He found himself screaming in a mix of complete fury and utter despair.

Mid scream, something that felt exactly like a book pelted him on the back of the head. Jak fell forward, tripping over his own feet and catching himself on the stone stairs in the middle of the room, then banging his forehead on the table on the round platform. He turned around, somehow calmed by head trauma, and sat down on the stone, and hand to his forehead. He heard the fluttering of pages, and an old man's voice.

"Now see here, young man, calm down!"

Jak could not focus on anything; he was glancing around wildly and could not even keep still long enough to take in any details about the room or the old man. He felt the blind panic from last night nudging against the surface again, and he tried to keep it down. He was swimming in his own thoughts, reaching blindly for the anchor that usually weighed him down—and then he began _looking_ for that anchor. He got to his feet, unsteadily. He felt the cold stone through his socks. They were uneven, like the old house had simply been built on top of a cobblestone road. "Daxter!"

"What?"

He kept repeating it in his head, silencing his memories, _Find Daxter. _The feeling of swimming died down. He looked to the old man, and thought, for one terrible moment, that he was Kor. It was a simple mistake. Long blue robe, long beard, same paternal vibe. But it could all be a mask that he tore off any second. Jak took a step back, stumbled over his boots, sat down on the uncomfortable cot. His heart began to pound. Suppose it did come off? Suppose it already had. What if _he_ had done something to Daxter? "W-where is he?"

"Who?"

"D-daxter." Jak tried his best to remain calm. He did not like the old man. When he looked at him out of the corner of his eye, Kor was all he saw. This was not good. This was bad. This was very bad. He needed Daxter. He needed his gun. What had happened to them? What had happened to Keira? Tess had been right in front of him just a few hours ago. Where had she gone? Where was Daxter? Where was Daxter? "He's about two feet tall, skinny rodent, bright orange. Huge ego. He's impossible to miss."

"I'm sorry, he's not around here."

It was coming back again—this time with a feeling of nausea. Jak took a calming breath and said, mostly to himself, "Okay, Okay, I'm sure he's fine. I'm going to go look for him."

He looked down at his boots on the floor and held his forehead between his thumb and forefinger—because this was what he usually did when he was trying to think. One thing at a time. Boots on first. He needed to find Daxter—but to do that, he needed a way to defend himself and a way to attract his attention. The gun. Where was his gun? He had it—he knew he had it. How could he have lost it, when he never let it go? He turned around and looked around the small house, and demanded, "My gun?"

"Next door."

He turned around again, and threw the door open, nearly running right into a brown-haired, green eyed woman. She seemed to recognize him, but mostly, she seemed afraid. She stepped back and held up her hands, and said very weakly, "Cloud!"

Why _exactly_ she wanted to draw his attention to the clouds escaped him. He walked past her, past two other people that he barely paid attention too, and threw open the first door he saw. His eyes fell on his gun, on a table, with a third man sitting behind the dismantled wreak—to be fair, Jak only called it a wreak because the parts were not laid out the way _he_ would lay them out, he was in that kind of mood—who looked a little ashamed of himself, but at the same time, a little miffed.

"You dismantled my _gun_?" he barked.

The man was yellow-haired, and as far as Jak was concerned in his late thirties. He wore a plain, white knitted shirt that stretched over his brawny shoulders. He had a leather dog-tag around his neck, and a pair of goggles over his eyes, so Jak could not see them clearly. He set his tools and the gun down and lifted his goggles. His eyes were blue. In a stern voice, he asked, "Do you know how to put it back together?"

"Of course I do!" Jak replied indignantly, "It's _my gun_." he stormed forward began to reassemble the front half of the exterior in record time, fitted it over the gummi core and assembled the second half building off the first. He reached for the Vulcan ammunition, and his heart stopped when he saw that it had been tampered with. What the hell? "Don't you _know_ how dangerous eco can be?" he demanded.

"Well, look what it did to the table!" he replied motioning to a burned hole in the wood that had obviously been made by dark eco. There was a second hole, one that bad been blasted in—most likely from a mishap with blue eco.

"Where did it go? What the hell did you do with it?"

"In a jar, over there." He pointed to the mantle place.

Jak turned around and received the shock of his life, "You've got them way too close together you're lucky it hasn't exploded yet!" He snatched up the jar of dark eco, and, having no other way to dispose of it, dumped it out into his open hand and absorbed it. His vision went blank for a second—it always did—and when the world came back into focus, the man at the table, the green-eyed woman from before, and those two bystanders he had passed were all staring at him in horror.

The blond haired man asked slowly, "Didn't you _just_ say that stuff was dangerous?"

There was a painful silence. Jak stood there, frozen, like a caught animal, the jar still held over his open hand, growing warmer against his palm. It was a good moment, really. The panic subsided. No one was actively trying to hurt him and it just took a second of not running around in terror to realize that.

"Well I'm—" he considered the possible words. Special? Sounded positive. A lab rat? He did not want to tell them that yet, "... different."

Among the two by standers, there was a brown haired man with a scar that slanted across the bridge of his nose, between his dark blue eyes. His eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth on that word—"different"— but the green-eyed woman gave him arm a slight nudge and she shook her head, so faintly Jak would not have noticed if he had not been looking. He pretended not to notice. Had he gone Dark last night? He looked at his hand. There were no cuts in his cuticles, so no rapid nail growth; he did not taste blood, so no cuts in his mouth from the fangs, either. He checked his horns, hidden under his hair, no broken skin there, either.

But it would have made sense if he did. He was under a lot of stress, and he felt mostly purged of the dark eco—what he had just taken in was just a little blip on the radar compared to what he had in him when those creatures had come. Maybe he had, maybe he had not. He was not about to ask. If he had successfully avoided showing them that side of himself, he was not about to ask and raise suspicion.

"My name is Aerith Gainsborogh." The green-eyed woman told him. She smiled pleasantly and Jak decided that she was impossible not to trust.

"Jak." He answered.

"No last name?"

"No." he replied, "No last name."

The brown haired man opened his mouth to say something again. Jak looked at him sharply, perhaps a bit too sharp because he re-considered his words mid-breath, and said instead of..._whatever_ it was he was going to observe, he said, "Leon."

"No last name?"

"Short for Leonheart." He said, "It _is_ my last name."

A bright, bubbling voice said on his other side, "His first name's Squall." Jak jumped and turned to face her. The girl in question grinned broadly. She was small, and fairly young, with dark eyes and short, black hair. He could have _sworn_ she had not been on his left side before, so she moved very quickly and very easily. He had never seen or heard her move, "Mine's Yuffie Kisaragi."

She shook hands with him; she had a strong grip for such skinny arms. She was shorter than him, but not by much. He was used to that. When these three had given their names, the man at the table stood up and introduced himself as Cid Highwind. He tried to make conversation about his morph gun, how the mechanics worked, how eco was used in the ammunition—and what eco even was in the first place—and Jak did not know whether this was because he believed Jak was an incompetent gun-owner, or because he had no idea how to read people, because his opinion, he was making it fairly obvious that he wanted to go.

He was trying very, very hard to make his way back to the front door, but they kept him pinned in by the fire place, asking a million questions all at once, where he came from, how the Heartless got there, and Jak did not say anything. The word Heartless certainly sounded familiar, but he was not sure where, exactly. Aerith was the only one who seemed to understand that he wanted out of there as fast as possible. She took him by the arm and said, "Jak, why don't I show you around the town? You look like you need some air."

"_Thank you." _He replied. Together, they made their way to the door. When she opened it for him, there was a second blond standing there. He was young, in his twenties—around the same age as Leon and Aerith, but his _hair_ seemed to think it was still seventeen. It was messy, like he had just woken up, sticking out at all angles. He looked at Aerith first, then to Jak, and Jak could actually _see_ the exact point the distrust showed up in his blue eyes. While Cloud was staring him down, Jak focused on other things, like the metal plate covering his shoulder, and the extra sleeve, and the alarmingly huge sword on his back.

Aerith said, in a much different tone this time, "Cloud!"

Was that just something they _did_ here? Say 'Cloud' when doors opened? The other blond jumped, "Huh?"

It took a second for Jak to realize his _name_ was Cloud.

"This is Jak."

The second blond extended his hand, and replied, "Cloud Strife."

Jak seriously doubted that was his real name, but he shook hands all the same. At least it made sense why Aerith had timidly said, "Cloud." earlier. She was calling for help.

Maybe he _had_ transformed...?

He still was not about it ask.

"I'm going to show him around town."

"Should I come with you?" he asked.

"No, Cloud, we'll be fine." She replied.

He frowned slightly. Jak knew that frown. Cloud was going to follow them at a distance. That was fine—if the roles were reversed, Jak would certainly follow him. Aerith walked along with him for a while, and then let him go and got right to business, "This way. This is where we found you."

They hurried up a flight of stone stairs to a tall, stone wall. They went to the right, heading away from a construction site that was building up the wall to their left, adding on about ten feet of stone. _Something_ had be be kept out, "What's the wall for?"

"You'll see, Jak." She replied.

Jak glanced back. Cloud was following them, out of earshot, sword still on his back. At least it was not out. When he looked back at Aerith, he saw that she had noticed him too, but she did not say a word about it. She hurried him on, explaining, "This is the Bailey. That way leads to the castle, but it's locked up now, we can't get there. It was right here. This is where you turned up."

Jak looked around, turning in a complete circle to see every corner of the cool, stone room. The only light came in from two observing windows, and the doorway. It was badly damaged, exactly like he had gone on an eco-fueled rampage. Jak headed towards the doorway, and the steps beyond, first he stood on the landing of a second set of stairs and shouted, "Daxter!"

His voice echoed back, and he realized he was too far down, too shut in for his voice to carry very far. He took out the morph gun, shifted to the Vulcan mod, and fired it into the air, a chain of about fifty rounds, then he paused briefly, and fired a few more over the blocked passage way, so no one would get hurt. He stopped a second time, and let the gun chew through the rest of the clip after two seconds. He knew _that_ would get Daxter's attention, and that was worth the waste in ammo. He had to conserve what he had left—this place was not going to have any, Jak knew that was certain. He went down the stars, but he did not see any sign of Daxter. There was no dirt or mud to take footprints. No blood splatters or clumps of orange fur, either, so that was a good sign. He searched the gate to the blocked passage thoroughly—Daxter could have scaled it, easy. Then he checked the broken controls. There were plenty of Ottsel-sized hiding places, but no Ottsels.

He found the JET board. It had flown off on its own and slammed into the wall, leaving a small crack, before it had fallen and shut off directly below it. The finish was badly scratched, but it had always been badly scratched. It still worked. He would be able to cover more ground much faster. He stashed it on his back, and headed back to Aerith, "If Daxter was here, he would have followed us last night."

"Are you sure?" Aerith asked. She looked at the destruction he had caused last night, then to Cloud, who had his sword drawn, but otherwise seemed unruffled. He did not look too keen on putting it away anytime soon, however.

"Yeah." Jak answered, he tried _not_ to acknowledge either of those details. "He's a little guy, but he sticks with me. He's either beyond the gate, exploring the castle, or he's on the other side of the wall."

Before he could cross the bailey, Aerith gently grabbed his arm and stopped him, "No, Jak, that's not possible."

"Yes it is."

"No. It's not."

"Sure it is!" he replied, "It's just as likely as anything—let me look."

He shook her hand off and headed to the window. He thought it would be about twenty or fifteen feet down. He was wrong. It was a very tall, sheer drop, heading to a gaping chasm, filled with those black creatures that had attacked Haven City. Even from this high up, Jak could see the yellow glow of their eyes.

The fear surged back again.

"There's nothing but Heartless down there." Aerith told him. Her voice had all the signs of someone who was trying to keep their cool and calm everyone down despite the fact that she herself was terrified. Jak was guessing it _was not _the monsters—Heartless, he was able to put two and two together—below. She placed her hand on his arm, "If he was—not anymore."

"No!" Jak shook her off a bit more roughly than he meant to and jumped onto the ledge, only to be grabbed by both pairs of hands and jerked down again, landing hard on the stone floor of the bailey.

"You can't go down there—you'll be killed." Aerith informed him. She hardly raised her voice. She pulled him up again and steered him away from the windows, "Maybe he arrived somewhere else. We'll go to the town square and look there." Jak already knew. He could feel it. Daxter was not there. Aerith tried vainly to reassure him, "This isn't the first time this has happened. A boy named Sora, and his friends, they were separated when the darkness took their world, too. But they found each other again—and their world even came back! So you see—You see, it will all be okay."

He did not say anything. She shut up and lead him back down the stairs and though the streets to the town square. While he was walking through, he realized that this town was more of a slum than anything. Only this small part of it seemed to be lived in, but the wall seemed to go on pretty far, and it looked like only the flat, Heartless covered landscape was beyond that. The square was not really a square at all—it was not centrally located, wide open, or convenient to get to. As far as Jak could tell, it was just closest place in the slum that happened to resemble a town square. It was bordered with little vendor shops selling armor and weapons—Jak saw no guns in display, only staffs and shields—and whatnot for the usual townsperson living in a slum besieged by monsters from another world.

Just like home.

Everyone was even looking at him funny.

_Just_ like home.

He glanced around and he did not see Daxter.

He saw about three of the shops were run by small ducks.

And after the initial confusion and shock wore off, Jak was okay with that.

He asked around, and after asking two or three people about Daxter and not hurting anyone, the rest seemed to warm up to him, and they were all glad to help. The fact that Aerith did not seem to be afraid of him certainly did not hurt his image. None of them had seen or heard of Daxter, however. They all wished him luck, gave their condolences, and told him that this was not the first time the Heartless had just swallowed someone up.

The ducks, shockingly, where the most helpful. Each one told him that the chances of anyone going through the darkness and getting spit back out again, like Jak was, were extremely good. No only was there the Hollow Bastion, but there were several other worlds out there Daxter could have found himself in, and some were much, much safer than Hollow Bastion was itself. Anyone could go from one to the other if they had a pure, strong heart, the right equipment, or in one or two cases, sheer, beast-like will power.

If there was one thing Daxter had, it was heart.

With that knowledge in hand, and no Daxter, he went back to Leon's with Aerith. He saw a notice board on their way back, and noticed that only one flier looked recent. The others were all at least ten years old, and they looked it. They had been rained on, wind-beaten, and weathered. Jak walked away from Aerith and tore off the piece of paper reminding everyone that curfew was at some time—Jak really could not read it, but screw it, what ever it was. He tossed it aside. He looked at the ten-year-old pages.

Mixed in with a few odds and ends—what Jak assumed was an ad for an ice-cream shop, this and that—were missing persons fliers.

"Jak, don't do that!"

Jak tore the fliers off of the wall, one by one, looking at each one in turn, getting more put on edge each time. None of them looked particularly older or newer than the others, so they seemed to be only a few days apart, but Jak could not read the words—spoken, their language was identical, but written it was completely alien, so he had no true idea. He could only really tell what they were through pictures—but why else would their faces be on fliers? Small children were not normally criminals—so they had to be missing people.

Crime syndicates did not kidnap like this. They took people one by one and left ransom notes pretty quick, so people usually knew where they loved ones were. Only when ransom was not paid were they murdered or sold off. His hands tightened on the papers. No. This was—Jak swallowed hard and pushed memories of the Dark Warrior Program from his mind—_this_ was what happened when governments did not have criminals to experiment on. At best—judging by the mostly consistent photograph quality and the condition of the paper—they were all just days apart—at least twelve people had gone missing in a short time. Most likely just in this neighborhood alone—and this city had once been huge. Small towns did not have walls—and huge cities did not have walls unless there was something that needed to be kept out, right?

This place was reminding him more and more of Haven City by the second. He cycled through them again.

Aerith stood up and smoothed out the curfew flier. She stuck it back up again, "Jak, that is littering—Jak, why are you looking at those?"

"What happened to these people?"

"They vanished." She answered slowly, her eyebrows knitted, and she grew wary of him.

"Yes, but how?" he held them in her face, "How did it happen? _What_ happened to them? And why are these the only fliers? Why weren't new ones put up or these replaced? Why are they ten years old?"

"Jak—let's not talk about it."

She sounded genuinely hurt. She was old enough to remember what had happened—not the cause, but the effect. If it was really still unresolved...but how could it still be unresolved? Ten years later, and the crime was still at a dead end? No resolution at all? Jak lowered the missing persons fliers and looked at the first one. He was young—a teenager. Probably the same age Jak had been when _he _was casually plucked from the streets. He had dark hair and blue eyes—the photograph was in color, so there was no guess work to be done there.

"Did you... Did you know any of them."

She looked away, towards Cloud, who had gone back to hanging around out of earshot, then she looked back at Jak. She took away the first wanted poster—the dark-haired and blue-eyed one—and said, "Yes. I knew him. His name was Zack. He was... Very important to me."

He was younger than her—but he supposed she must have been younger then, too. Aerith smiled and Jak knew that look. Keira always wore it when she thought about missing him—and he wore it when he had missed her. It was just a little glimpse of the gaping void below. "I'm sorry."

"It happened just before the Heartless came for the first time." She replied, "We figure—they had something to do with it, just taking one or two people before they consumed the world."

"You didn't hear any rumors or anything?"

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She wanted to ask why this seemed to strike such a cord with him, but she left it unsaid, probably because she knew if she did, he would drop it immediately and try to pretend it never happened. "Our Governor, Ansem the Wise, was a man of science. Some people say his security officers grabbed people when they thought no one could see—and took them away."

Of course. He felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth and his heart began to pound in his chest. "Do you believe it?"

"Ansem the Wise was a good man." She insisted, "He would never abduct people to experiment on them."

"But do you believe it?"

"I just said—"

"Ansem the Wise and Ansem the Wise's security are two different things." Jak replied. He distanced himself from his own story and chose his words carefully, "In my experience, rulers don't like to be seen getting their hands dirty. That doesn't mean they won't."

Aerith looked offended at first, but then she must have seen something in his face that made her change her mind. She cut him wide open when she asked, "And what _is_ your experience, Jak?"

"Suppose he knew about the Heartless before the rest of you?"

Her face said everything: she did not believe him, "He was studying the Heartless—but why does that have to mean he would do experiments on people, Jak?"

He knew what this was about—it was about how he had transformed. Of course. There was no denying it now. They really must have seen. Jak huffed in frustration, plucked the wanted poster of her most-likely former boyfriend from her hand. It was going to happen eventually, "Well, that's what happened to _me._"

She blinked, tilted her head. It was polite of her to pretend she was clueless about it, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It's in the past." He held up the posters again, "Now, tell me about what happened to them."

"I don't want to talk about it." She replied bluntly, "It's in the past."

Jak nearly kicked himself. He had walked _right_ into that, and he had no one to blame but himself. With a heavy sigh, he explained, "I'm a science experiment." He told her, "That stuff I said was extremely dangerous? Yeah. A panel of renowned scientist, an _ethics committee_, decided it would be a good idea to try injecting a fifteen-year-old kid with that stuff."

"Oh." Aerith's eyebrows knitted. She glanced at his ear—she knew what the id number was for now, she was nice enough not to ask for confirmation. "But why you?"

He wished he had an answer. He should have—with as much as he had stewed on it over two years, and then some. But he did not. He knew why it _worked. _It was because he could channel eco so well—but he had no idea how they knew about him. "I don't know." Jak replied, "I don't know how they knew about me. I proved it could be done, but I don't know how they knew about me." He held the posters in her face again and reminded her, "Zack?"

"Right." She replied, looking at the poster, "He was the only one that lived in this neighborhood—Leon and I lived a short walk from here—but it's too damaged. Yuffie lived a little beyond that, on the west side, and I don't know where Cloud lived. But, Leon, Zack and I—we were good friends. I was familiar with a lot of people from this neighborhood, even if only in passing." She sorted through them for a long time. Jak wondered briefly if it was a stalling tactic, or if she was actually doing something, "Lea and Isa—they were good friends, and always trying to break into the castle." She showed him the first poster, two teenagers, one with green eyes and red hair, the other with blue eyes and blue hair.

Jak thought it was strange, but his hair was green at the roots. He had no room to talk.

"They would babysit—" she paused for a moment to sort through it again, "Kairi. This girl. She was shy, lived with her grandmother, who cleaned Ansem's house. She often took Kairi with her when Lea and Isa were in school and too busy to watch her. Kairi always came back with—tall tales. And that was why they were so keen on getting in. They wanted to see if it was true."

"Did they ever make it?"

"They never made it far, at first." Aerith put the stack back into its proper order, "But they might have, one day. Theirs is the only disappearance that could be tied to Ansem—but there was no proof."

"But Kairi? Her Grandmother—"

"If Ansem _was_ doing anything evil, do you really think he would take his cleaning lady's granddaughter?"

Jak thought about it for a moment, and after a minute of wondering how Ansem could possibly be evil, it struck him that it did seem odd that he—not odd, rude—that he had just assumed it ahead of time. He asked, "You think he's still alive?"

"I know—" She stopped herself. She knew something and she did not want to tell him, but hiding the truth was not in her nature, so she went ahead and fessed up "I know Kairi is."

"And you haven't talked to her about this? Why the hell not? Where is she?"

"She's..." Aerith did not want to say it. She frowned, knitted her eyebrows and blinked, trying to find something else to say, anything else to say but the truth, "_Not_ _here._"

* * *

I have hand-picked every characters setting (Jak, Keira, Tess and Daxter) to give each one the maximum amount of character development.

Jak is put in the place with the past that strikes a chord with him-the missing people. Gives him something to do.

Gun-toting, booze-peddling, self-reliant Tess is put in Twilight town (CLEARLY the place with the strictest child protection laws.)

Keira, the satellite, in small-town destiny islands, where she will be the center of attention.

And Daxter...? Ahaha

Ahahahaahha.


	4. Chapter 3

Taking Orders From Nobody:

(Disclaimed)

Okay, next week, I'll be moving this to the cross over section.

So tell your friends and stuff.

Still, really glad it's gotten some support.

* * *

Chapter three:

Daxter kept high. With his tiny claws, he climbed up the black sky scrapers, keeping off of the ground and the swarms of Heartless below. He had to avoid them, so he climbed as high as he dared. It was dark; the only sign of light came from never-flickering, always-lit neon signs. There was no starlight. There was no sign of dawn. There was something about this place that made his fur stand on end and his whiskers quiver. Maybe it was the Heartless below him; maybe it was that there were no people anywhere. Maybe it was that there was no sun.

Daxter kept high. He bounded off of one wall and onto another, and he climbed even higher. The shadows would appear on the narrow ledges, but they were easy to avoid, and to shove off the edges if he had too. He was fast enough to out run them, but he could not take the safer road down below, because they would overwhelm him and bog him down. He could slip out of a pile up, but he would risk getting caught in another one. The shadows were as tall as him, when both were standing tall, but they were much bigger.

His hands found the final ledge of a building, and he pushed himself upwards onto it, the claws on his back legs scraping against the brick. He got a good look at the sprawling, black cityscape around him. It rivaled Haven City in terms of size and construction integrity. Everything was well put together—and it reached out as far as he could see.

The cartoonish, heart-shaped moon floating above completely ruined it, though. Daxter saw it, just floating here, and despite himself, he snorted and covered his mouth, "What?" It was either waxing or waning, Daxter could not tell. It was a gibbous heart-shaped moon, not a full moon. And, no; real, genuine, moonlike characteristics like craters and phases did not make it any less ridiculous.

He stopped snickering and reminded himself that he was on a flat, open surface. The Heartless could find him here, and they _would_ converge. He had to keep moving.

This world... It seemed to be teetering on the edge of something horrible. Daxter had ridden on Jak's shoulder, he _knew_ what teetering on the edge of "something horrible" felt like.

He reached a point where he could no longer continue. There was a great, glowing crater in front of him, about twenty stories below ground level. He was probably about forty stories up, perhaps more, so at its lowest point—dead center—it was roughly sixty floors down, though Daxter could not truly see that—it was glowing too brightly. He did not even try to estimate what its diameter was. He was not good at estimating distances. He was still not used to being two feet tall. It really threw him off. Floating above this crater was a pale grey castle. The heart-shaped moon loomed above it, and managed to look sinister despite itself.

He looked around. The Heartless did not seem to be converging on him, but he did not want to remain here. Still, he was tired of running and climbing. He swallowed, though his mouth had gone dry and he was only shifting thin, dry sludge, which made him thirsty. He panted as he slowly walked over to the edge of the building, close to the crater.

He looked down and saw a bright patch of red-orange on the blue street below. Daxter moved closer. It was a person. He thought with a skip in his chest, at first, that it was Ashlin, but the person was too skinny, and the hair was wrong. He had simply been wishing. Perhaps it was Jak. Perhaps the light simply made his blonde hair look—

It was not Jak. If Jak was here Daxter would have seen him first thing.

Whoever this person was, the Heartless were not attacking him—and that was something to take an interest in. If he had some trick, Daxter needed it. He made his way down the wall and got closer, dropping down silently from ledge to ledge, making his way back along the street, keeping behind him and shadowing him. He was tall—very tall. Taller than Jak ever hoped to be. He nearly rivaled Sig on height.

So, here he was, tall as a redwood, thin as a willow. His hair behaved like Jak's did, flaring up, but keeping itself back. Daxter slinked up beside him, and finally spoke, "Hey."

With a jump, he turned around, did not see anyone of a reasonable height, and then looked down.

"Who are you?" Daxter asked.

"Who are _you_?" the stranger replied. Daxter moved back. This was not his home turf, so he obliged.

"Daxter."

"Axel." The stranger replied. He motioned for Daxter to follow him. Together, they walked away from the grey castle. Axel made the conversation, "You must be new here."

It was not that hard of a conclusion to draw, "Yeah."

"So, how are you liking it so far? I know Xemnas can be a little... intimidating, but—"

What? What the actual hell? What had Daxter said to make this guy believe he was already well ensconced in whatever black-clad freak show he was? He replayed every word in his head, all five of them, while Axel rambled on about the hierarchy and who was who and who did what, before Daxter finally could not take it anymore, "What?"

"What?" Axel replied, "We _do_ need to get you a uniform—though I suppose it's being worked on—We don't have one your size laying around—well, actually, we did. But the mouse stole it.

"You lost me at Xemnas!"

"But you must have seen him!" Axel replied, "You were named."

"What?"

"Daxter." He said, "So, who were you before?"

Daxter tilted his head, and tried to make sense of the question. This red-head must be very perceptive if he could tell that Daxter had not always been a rodent, "Well, I was a person."

"That's weird. Somebodies don't normally turn into animals—Actually, they never have before."

That was an odd piece of dialect. Daxter understood it, though, so he ignored it, "Yeah, I fell into da—"

"But what was your name?"

He might actually be a little thick, which was a strange combination with perceptive, though Jak did have the same problem. "Daxter." he repeated.

Axel stopped. They were on the edge of the crater, and a glowing blue bridge magically appeared out of nowhere. "No, your name _before._ When you were somebody."

"Daxter!" he insisted, getting frustrated.

"No, that's _now_, what was it then? Don't tell me you've forgotten already?"

Daxter was flustered now. He straightened up, glared at him, his paws clenching into little fists and his hair bristling. His tail rose up, "My name has always been Daxter!"

Axel stopped and focused his sharp teal eyes on Daxter. His eyes narrowed, he looked confused, then he took a step away, confusion gave way to disbelief, "...You're not a Nobody?"

"Listen, hothead," Daxter crossed his arms, "You can diss self-confidence all you like. I know I ain't the hero, but I ain't a Nobody."

"You're just..." There was a long pause, and Axel looked very confused again. The wheels in his head were turning—he was not expecting this. "A talking rodent who's name just happens to have an X in it?"

Daxter considered it. He did not quite understand what Axel was getting at, "Yeah."

"Huh." The red-head huffed. He looked around, and then decided it would be best just to hoist Daxter up. Daxter crawled up his arm to his shoulder, and wove a paw through his hair, and lamented, silently, that his shoulder was even bonier and more uncomfortable than Jak's.

He looked at the castle, and turned and headed back towards it, "Do you even know what a Nobody is?"

"Nope."

"What about the Heartless?"

"I know about the Heartless, alright." Daxter replied, "I ain't ever been more scared of butter-cup yellow."

"A Nobody is what's left after a Heartless gets created. A Heartless is the heart that is lost to darkness, a Nobody is the husk that carries on."

"Then—then aren't the names wrong?" Daxter asked.

"What?"

"The names. If the Nobody's the body without the heart _it_ should be called the Heartless. If the Heartless has the heart, shouldn't _it_ be the Nobody?"

"You've got a point." Axel shrugged, "But that's just what we call em."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Daxter asked a burning question, "So, what's with the cartoonish heart-shaped moon?"

Axel snorted, covered his mouth and said, "That's Kingdom Hearts—or, part of it, anyway. We're making it out of hearts the Heartless take."

"What now?"

"We'll get new hearts if we make it."

"But—but aren't people losing theirs?"

"Yes."

Daxter wanted off. He jumped down and landed right in front of Axel, "Hold on just a hot minute!" he crossed his arms, "The Heartless take hearts, right? They take hearts and put them in there?!" he pointed at Kingdom Hearts, "So that you can get _your heart_ back? Which the Heartless _also_ took?"

"Yeah."

"How many hearts do you need? Everyone in Haven City? Wouldn't it just be easier to go _look_ for your heart?"

Axel looked back, "There's a lot of hearts in there."

"And whose fault is that?!"

There was a long pause again. Axel frowned, looked back at Daxter, and said, "Well, my heart could be anywhere. It might not even be in there—it could be out somewhere totally random."

Daxter was not buying into his crap. It did not sit well with him, because to the best of his knowledge _Jak's_ heart was heading to that thing and Daxter was powerless to stop it, "What happens to the hearts when you're done with them?"

Axel stopped to think for a third time. They were standing just before a really, really tall building—with a wreaked truck blocking up the alleyway to their left. Right was the only path they could take. Axel seemed to realize then, that it was raining. He put his hood up and confessed, "Dunno."

Daxter huffed, and considered slinking away, but two things happened. One, he realized that there was probably no one else around for miles—more than miles, maybe—and two, the drizzle became a sudden, cold deluge, the kind that would soak him to the bone in a matter of minutes, and he's smell like, well, like a _wet ostelle_ for days after wards. Axel picked him up again and let him crawl in under his hood before he got too wet.

"I'm just a little upset." Daxter said, head just under his chin, "That _my_ entire world had to go under just so you could get a new heart."

"And I'm not—" Axel's voice rumbled against Daxter's paw. "I guess that's why I need a heart."

Daxter was royally pissed by that comment, and he considered pointing out that he was about two casually dismissive sentences away from being a bigger sack of shit than Krew, who really did have Haven City's largest sack of shit award currently. Axel had just passed the second runner up, though, and that was Errol.

Axel sighed and tried to convince Daxter he was not all bad, "I know I should be."

"Doesn't help."

"I remember what being upset feels like."

"Not. Helping."

"If it were up to me, I'd return the hearts." Axel confessed, "And—and once I had one, I'd probably feel like it. I think. From what I remember of myself, that's something I'd do."

"What do you remember of yourself?"

There was another pause. Axel kept walking, and Daxter wondered for a moment if he had forgotten they were talking, until he said, "I really liked Frisbee."

"That's it?" Daxter asked, bluntly and still short tempered, "You remember you like frisbee?"

It was very anti-climactic. "Yes." Axel changed the subject, "You need a name."

"I _have _a name."

"I mean a fake name for your fake somebody."

"Why do I need a fake somebody?"

"Because how else are you going to blend in here?"

Axel had a point. Daxter adjusted himself in his hood around his neck. Axel did not show a sign of being tickled. Heartless, indeed. When he was settled in, he asked, "What was yours?"

"Lea, I think. You forget after a while. It's been a few years. Actually, it's been ten." He held a hand to his chin, "Daxter gives us a lot to work with. D-A-T-E-R."

"You forgot the X."

Axel removed his hand from his chin, and suddenly seemed to remember that there was a pettable head just around his neck. He gave Daxter a little scratch. Daxter swatted his hand away. He shook his gloved fingers as he jerked his hand back and returned it to his side. His arms swung very slightly when he walked, and Daxter had a hard time adjusting too it, because he was used to a much more dramatic swing from Jak. He explained, "Yes, I know. That's the point. Xemnas will scramble it back up, and he'll put the X back in so with any luck you'll just be Daxter again."

"What?"

"See, 'Lea' plus 'X' is 'Axel.' 'Isa' and 'X' is 'Saix.'" He started listing all of the possible combinations that Daxter's name sans the X would get them. He probably could have gone on for at two minutes—there were over a hundred combinations, but that was two minutes Daxter did not want to waste.

"Ardet." Daxter said, "My somebody was named Ardet."

"Okay." Axel shut up about it, "Ardet it is—was then."

They had reached the end of an alleyway, and the end of the road. Axel turned around, and walked back. While he was walking, he asked, "What do you fight with?"

"Fight?"

"Yeah—you made it through, you must have fought the Heartless off somehow, right?"

Daxter doubted sheer balls counted as a legitimate answer, and even then, he doubted it was true. "I didn't. It was just luck—but I worked as an exterminator for a couple of months. I'm pretty handy with a fly swatter."

Axel laughed. It was not real. Daxter could tell now, and it irritated him. He dug his claws into Axel's collarbone. The red-head cringed and stopped laughing immediately, "I still feel pain you know."

_"__Good."_

"Are you still mad?" There was no hint of disbelief—it was an honest question.

"What do you _think_!?"

There was a pause, then, "That's okay, you can be mad—but I don't think fly swatters really... Well, we _have_ fly swatters... But they aren't nice fly swatters."

"What does it matter?"

"Organization XII has an image to maintain."

"And you care about it despite the inability to care?"

There was that pause again.

"Really." Axel said, "You don't want it. It's a plane-jane fly swatter one of us bought from this store in this world called Ohana Islands—it's beat up and tacky and has a little hula dancer on the handle."

"Sweet!"

Axel started to fake laugh. He immediately stopped. They had just passed the tallest skyscraper again. Daxter poked his head out of the hood to take a look at the top. It was really, really high up. The rain poured down even harder now, and when he drew his head back in, his nose was drenched.

Axel had one more suggestion, "If you gave up talking, you could just be my pet."

"Never." Daxter replied, "Just ask Jak if you get a chance—I'm a terrible backseat driver. I can't keep my mouth shut. Not on your life."

"It was a thought." Axel shrugged, "Who's Jak?"

"Buddy of mine." Daxter told him, "He and I go way back—course it's his fault I'm like this. It's no wonder I'm giving orders all the time. Can't fight a monster without my help."

"So you're a talking rodent strategist?"

"Yeah." Daxter nodded, "Pretty much."

They were silent until they reached the gray castle again. Axel asked, "You ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Daxter replied.

Axel crossed the bridge to the castle. It was entirely gray and white inside. A weird, unwelcome change. The place looked too big and very freaky, and gave the feeling of being made out of old circuit boards and exposed pipes. But, it was dry—and that change was welcome. Axel took off his hood and Daxter wasted no time jumping down and shaking off all the water he could. He followed Axel through the maze of white towards a central meeting room with thirteen chairs in a circle. They were all of various heights, but all of them were empty, except for a blond punk with a mullet, playing a flamboyant blue guitar and wearing the same clothes as Axel.

In Haven City, mullets were something of a bad joke, and the fact that even Torn and Ashelin had both had one at some point in their careers, and there were photographs to prove it was the cause of much hysterical laughter. It was the _only_ reason Daxter knew what they were. He would have laughed, but he reminded himself that he was supposed to be a heartless Nobody.

And he supposed he had to act like somewhere out there, he had a Heartless with no body.

That was going to be impossible to keep straight.

But, he did not laugh. The teenager saw him, and asked immediately, "Getting a pet Axel?"

"Hey!" Daxter barked, "I'm a Nobody same as you!"

"Still in the habit of getting offended?" Mullet grinned.

"Yeah." Daxter faked settling down, "Hard one to break."

He laughed, "You don't really break it." Without a thought to his ankles, he dropped down from his high seat and strode towards Daxter without missing a beat, "I'm Demyx. It's good that we're getting a new member—Organization XII just doesn't feel right without thirteen."

"So, you've got twelve?"

"No." Demyx shrugged and grinned, "We have seven. I consider calling us the magnificent seven, but now we're to be eight, so I guess it's too late."

He laughed. Daxter tried to keep the frown off his face. The smiles were fake. The laughter was fake. It angered him, enough to let it show, but he knew he could not. When he heard Axel faking laughter too, he faked it himself. Faking it must be the norm. Daxter guessed it was to keep remembering what it felt like to have a heart.

And with that thought, a little sympathy struck him. Daxter had come through in one piece, heart, limbs, fur and all. He felt a little empty without Jak—he felt very empty without Jak, and he worried about everyone else. Being without a heart gave them a goal, but they had no moral compass to keep them from doing whatever it took—and Daxter supposed that was what they were doing. Whatever it took. Faking it must just be a little way to cope with it. He looked from one to the other. They both looked like they could be standing so close—but they seemed so far apart. And it was sad.

"So, what was your name?" Demyx asked, tilting his head.

"Ardet." Daxter replied flawlessly.

"Ardet." Demyx echoed, "Lot of combinations with that one—well, it's all up to Xemnas. Whatever pops into his head is what you'll get."

"Who were you?"

"Oh, um..." Demyx paused. "I've forgotten."

Daxter looked at Axel who just shrugged and said, "It happens."

Forgotten his own name. Was all Axel had to cling to a name and a love of Frisbee? Did he looked like he looked now, or was it different somehow? Daxter frowned. If this really was his life now, if he had become a Nobody, he would forget so many things. Haven City, Tess, Jak. What would he even remember? It seemed like only the memorable details. He would remember Jak in form only. No name. Maybe not even a face. Just images. Jak would be reduced to a broad shoulder and a sweaty neck. Maybe Tess would be a pair of boobs under a tightly-stretched shirt. And so would Ashelin. And Keira might be a wide backside bending to examine a zoomer, a silhouette behind a green curtain.

He really needed to re-evaluate his way of looking at women.

"Xemnas." Demyx waved big, "We gotta new one."

Xemnas looked down at him, and Daxter could feel the layers being peeled away by those fiery, frightening orange eyes. He had pale, silver hair in many layers, and it was a strange contrast to his dark skin. Daxter was pretty sure that coloring had no genetic explanation—but a riveting backstory. He could just _tell. _And, probably like he could just _tell_, it seemed that Xemnas could just _tell_ that Daxter was not a nobody. Just how much of his life's history this Xemnas could read on him, Daxter had no clue. And, the instinct and the riveting backstory was all Daxter could pick up. Everything else was drawing a blank. Daxter didn't know if Xemnas was just sizing him up—really, that should not take this long—or weighing the pros and cons of having a team mascot.

"Tell me your name."

It came out with some difficulty this time, "A-ardet."

It was back to thinking again. What was he doing? What was he reading? Daxter hoped the worry was completely gone from his face. He mimicked a confident, upright posture, instead of standing on all fours. Looking like less of an animal could not hurt. Xemnas seemed to think long about those five letters, no flicker of emotion passed his face. No nothing. He must have been looking at the problem like a logical mathematically equation, which means Daxter—the obvious choice, really—would come early on and—"Tarxed." He said pointedly.

He was going by a logical, mathematical equation _backwards. _"What about Daxter?"

"I like Tarxed better." He nodded, as if he had deemed is just. His work done, he just walked out. He must know everything that went on in the castle. He probably did know Daxter was not really a Nobody.

He probably knew his real name was Daxter and he had just chosen to call him Tarxed because he wanted the entertainment.

_The entertainment he could not enjoy because clearly he did not have a heart_.

And that offended him.

But, at the same time, he did not put it past the leader of a cult that took hearts from people.

When he left, Axel snickered, mostly to himself, "_Tarxed_."

"Shut. Up."

* * *

Pronounced _Tarks_-ed, not tar-_zed_


	5. Chapter 4

Taking Orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed)

A quick note:

Tess means "Harvester" which means Tess is one corner of the trio of theme names for keyblade wielders. (Earth, Air, Water) with that in mind, any knowledgeable J/D fan can guess one other potential keybearer and adamantly deny that the third one exists.

Do they had keyblades? Yes.

Will I tell their stories? No. No I'm too lazy.

Anyway, I'm moving it into the cross over section, which is largely a dead zone, so fingers crossed,it will spread through word of mouth.

* * *

Chapter four:

One moment, Tess had been bravely charging forward, swinging Cloverleaf at a sea of yellow-eyed shadows, the next she was tripping over a loose cobblestone, and banging her forehead on a statue of a horse. She reeled backwards and fell painfully on her backside on a brick border of a garden-bed, while old, dry thorns scratched her arms, neck, and long ears as they caught her.

And there were no Heartless.

"Ow!" she said, getting to her feet and rubbing her bum. She planted Cloverleaf in the ground and used it to stand, straightening herself out. Oh, she would feel that in the morning. She took her hand off of her keyblade and rubbed the small of her back, it hurt from her tailbone to her kidneys. She arched her spine forward, then back, stretching out the aches and muttering to herself, "Walk it off."

The blonde girl jerked Cloverleaf out of the ground, and walked around the statue. She saw some old, dusty glass doors that were so old that they were rusted in place. She shook them with all of her might, but she could not open them. She had to resort to simple vandalism. She picked up a brick—the brick that had nearly broken her tailbone, simply out of spite, and threw it with every ounce of her strength at the glass door. She shattered the panel completely, with a great, singing crash, and jabbed off any loose bits with Cloverleaf. She went through the door into a creepy, drafty darkness.

It was quite dark out and very still. It seemed to be early in the morning, not late at night. She knew, without a doubt, that she was alone. No one would ever let a garden get that overgrown, or a glass door that dusty, or a door hinge that rusted. No house would ever be left like this—an empty, but messy kind of abandoned, like what little was left was trying to spread itself far, fill the space, as if the house wanted to be lived in again. She strode across the room, imagining the feeling of eyes drilling into her back, and tackled the heavy front doors open. She was in another courtyard, with two rows of crumbling stone pillars leading to a blackened iron gate, one side of the gate swayed lazily in the breeze, squeaking.

Tess gripped the handle of Cloverleaf and hurried forward. She slipped out of the barely-open black gate and looked back at the house. It was big, about two stories high, and she suspected there was much more of it that she had yet to see. Perhaps in the sun it was not so unsettlingly dark and quiet. She turned around, no signs of a town. She glanced up at the stars, looking for a constellation she recognized, but she could not see one familiar-not a single one, and very soon, the stars were swallowed up by the branches of trees and she had to hold her hand forward to keep from bumping into one.

At least in the woods it was not so silent. She could hear crickets; see the occasional flashes of fireflies. Things that, really, she had only ever heard of—crickets and fireflies. They were pretty rare in Haven City, particularly the slums, where there were few trees, little dirt, not even wood. Nothing natural. At night by the racing stadium, that was the only time she had ever seen them, and even then, only in spring and summer.

With thoughts of the racing stadium came thoughts of Keira, and of Haven City itself, after that, and everyone that the darkness must have swallowed up. Why, then, was she the only one spit back out? What would happen to Keira? To Jak and Daxter? To Ashelin and Torn and Old Samos? If it was possible for _her_ to survive, why not them? At the very least, Jak would, and he always did have Daxter with him, so perhaps those two had managed it.

Her eyes grew used to the darkness, and she trudged along, one hand still before her, weaving her way through the trees. Eventually, she saw a light, a faint light, distant, but constant. She made her way towards it, eyes fixed on the ground as it grew brighter and brighter, and eventually, she found exactly what she was looking for. A convenient hole in a tall brick wall, looking into a peaceful-looking town. She ducked down into the gap, and examined the town before her, it was like she was looking into another world made of warm-colored bricks, reds and yellows and terra-cotta orange, the street lamps were foggy, yellowed glass, just as inviting as everything else around her. Aside from the glaring hole in the wall, the town looked incredibly well-maintained.

Perhaps, Tess smiled to herself, the town had no _reason_ to fix the wall, no pressing threat like Metalheads, or the wasteland. The hole was just a short-cut to the woods, a nice, green place for children to play and for teenagers to get away from it all—explore the mansion beyond. Perhaps the woods were full of such secret places.

She had never been in a city that actually slept at night, or that felt safe enough to let holes form in its walls. There were no heavily armored bullies patrolling _these_ streets. No cannons, no hellcats, no propaganda machines! She had only heard tell of such places, idle dreams of people that had never seen them for themselves. Sensing no danger, she opened her hand and let Cloverleaf fall, willing it to fade away into nothingness. She could feel it nearby, almost like someone was holding it above her palm, waiting to press it into her hand when she summoned it again. She folded her hands behind her back and casually strode forward, kicking her heels and peering around curiously as she walked.

It was then that she bumped into a boy. It was hard to say who bumped into whom at that point. They were _both_ wandering around, and they _both_ simply came across one another, with quite an impact, it was as simple as that. He jumped back, shocked, as if it had never occurred to him that he might meet someone wandering around this late at night, and a sudden, terrible thought struck her.

Supposed he opened his mouth and said something in complete gibberish?

"Who are _you_?" he demanded.

Well, there went _that _worry, but it was on to the next one, now. The boy put his hands on his hips and leaned forward, his eyes narrowing, and wandering in their untrusting slits from her eyes to the tip of her long, pointed ear, and he asked again, with a voice filled with disdain, "Who are you?"

"My name is Tess."

"And _what_ are you?"

She frowned, reached for the tip of her ear and gave the question some thought. Really, she knew no term for what she was—to the best of _her_ knowledge, she was a person, like anyone else, but that seemed a little open-ended, and asking _what_ she was did not seem like a complete assault on her personhood, just her ethnic identity, so she answered, "Well, dunno, really." she made up the best term she could, "Havenite?"

He seemed satisfied with that. He leaned back and crossed his arms, and asked, with a little more trust in his voice, "What are you doing here?"

"Why all these questions?"

"New faces make me nervous."

Tess resisted the mighty need to roll her eyes. Oh the places may change, but the people are the same! Instead, she answered, "My world was attacked by these creatures called the Heartless."

The distrust was back, "What?"

"Heartless." She replied, "There about the size of a crocodog and all black—they've got yellow eyes. You haven't seen one around here, have you?"

"No. I haven't." he said flatly, "And all my instincts say that's bullshit, so what are you really doing here?"

"I just found myself in that old mansion outside the wall." She explained, "You know, the one that can be reached through the hole?"

"I know it." He nodded, "What were you doing there?"

Tess frowned. She had begun to feel extremely unwelcome. Doubtless, that was the point in his many questions, obstructive attitude, and air of toughness. She could hold her own. She could stand her ground. She looked him firmly in the eye, and saw that there was kindness there. He gave trust with a great deal of difficulty, but once he was won over, he was had. He had such kind eyes for such a gruff boy, the scar was unsettling, and aroused curiosity—but nothing else. She wondered how he got it, very briefly, but there were more important questions to ask.

"What is your name? Where am I?"

"My name is Seifer." He did not want to tell her, but he did. "You're in Twilight Town."

She held out her hand to shake his own. He did not take it.

"I don't suppose you could give me the time?"

"It's eleven thirty." Seifer replied.

"What are you doing out so late?"

Seifer did not answer directly. He turned on his heel, pulled his dark knitted cap over his hair, and said, "Buzz off."

And there it was. That teenage boy he really was, walking off in a sulk. Tess chose to let him go. She looked around and said aloud to herself, "If I'm going to be stuck here, I'll need a job. It's late still—but he didn't look to be going to a job. I doubt he's headed to work. He must be headed home, so—nightlife's where he just came from."

She pointed in the opposite direction and followed her finger. She backtracked, and then simply guessed Seifer's path before he had bumped into her. She went past a sandlot, down an alleyway, and wandered for a bit before she found a bar.

It was a pretty extravagant place, considering how tucked away it was, but it was the only one she had seen, so it would probably be in full swing soon. The sign above the was in big, marquee-style lettering, but she realized with a stone sinking into her gut that she had no idea what it said. She could understand the language, but she could not read it. Below that, there was a little patio with a few tables and a single patron smoking, leaning against the metal fence. The doors were big, and mostly glass, the kind that was cut and etched and foggy to hide what was really going on inside. But, it was bright, and she could hear faint music drifting through the cracks, and laughter. It looked like a regular, run on the mill bar. She straightened up, steadied her resolve, and strode forward. She pushed open the doors and looked around. There was a lot she had to assess in a very brief period of time. There were tables, people playing cards, and roulette. A gambling den as well as a bar—that was bad for tips.

She saw no waitresses—at least, no girls in a uniform. A casual dress code was a plus. Drunk men tended to cat-call a little bit more at girls in uniform. That was just Tess's experience. She strode right to the bar tender. Crowds were much easier to weave through when she did not have to dodge the long ears. Hers kept bumping people, they kept looking, pointing, and she heard someone ask, "Cosplay?"

She wondered what that was, but only briefly. She looked right at the bar-tender, and sized him up. He was a pretty normal looking man, portly, with a mustache and a head of thinning brown hair. He looked at her, then at her long ears, then the rest of her as she strode over.

When she reached the bar, she said, "I'd like to speak to the manager."

"He's not here—can I help you?"

Tess steeled herself. She knew how to get a job—it was by going straight up to the manager, looking him square in the eye, and grabbing him by the balls—metaphorically. "No. I'd like to speak to the manager." She repeated firmly, "As soon as possible."

She was ready to engage him in a stare-down, but she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder, which was a gentle, steering motion, and she found she was being herded towards the door, while a voice smoothly instructed her, "This is no place for a young lady."

"Excuse me!" Tess exclaimed, slipping out of his arm just as fluidly, "Are _you_ the manager?"

"Of course." He replied, "Do you really think a patron would try to force a pretty young lady out of a bar?"

Tess knew it was a quip, but she did not smile. When he saw she was not going to offer so much as a chuckle, he dropped his arm. He was a man of average height and eccentric dress, prematurely grey or perhaps platinum blonde, the light made it hard to tell. He could not be more than twenty. He must have bought the bar or inherited it. Or, perhaps he really did start it himself, she did not need to sell him short. When he saw she was not going to leave, he motioned her away from the front door and to the privacy of his office, straight through the crowd and to the back wall.

"If you do have urgent business with me, perhaps we could talk in a place more private?"

"No. Out here is fine."

"Please?"

It was time to bend, "Yes sir." She walked towards the office door, with the manager right behind. The door was solid oak, no window, the doorknob was brass, and the plaque on the door, about eye-level, told her what the man's name was. She recognized the same word from outside, and a second one, a first name and a last name. It was the surname that matched—she was leaning towards the 'inherited' theory_._ Compared to the richly colored bar outside, the office beyond the door was very plain. The fanciest thing inside it was the high-backed swivel chair and matching desk. It was stained to look like cherry wood, but it was curly maple, dinged and scratched, obviously second hand. The walls were unfinished, and there was just a calendar on the wall. Landscapes a pink sunset over a sea, the sun falling just behind a little island. Must be late summer, or the end of vacation time. Tess thought about it. In Krew's office, there had been pin-ups, but as she watched this man take off his long, gold-trimmed coat, and hang it on the hat stand, then sit down primly at his desk, she could tell he was not the type for pin-ups.

"Now, wha—"

She did not let him finish, "I'd like job."

He blinked, shocked, and leaned back. In this light, it was much easier to tell his hair was just very light blonde. "W-what?"

"My name is Tess. I'd like a job." she repeated, "I have references." She frowned, "You won't be able to contact them, though."

"Yes. I know. It's quite obvious you are not from here." He replied, "But I can't give you a job. You're a sixteen year old girl—you should be in school—" he reconsidered, "You should be in _bed_—not a bar."

"Because I'm a girl?"

"No. Because you're sixteen." He replied,

"I'm eighteen." she put on her best poker face and lied.

"No you aren't. Perhaps where you came from, you could find work in a place like this, but I'm sorry, I'm unable to hire you. It's not legal here."

She had started with the word "like" again. That was a passive word. That was a mistake. "I _need_ a job."

"Best of luck to you." He said, "List me as a reference. My name is Setzer Gabbiani, my phone number—"

"I'm not leaving until you give me a job."

"I can give you a place to stay." He said, "I can't give you a job."

Tess stepped back. Her stomach lurched. She had been friends with _Keira_, and she knew "I can give you a place to stay" was a bombshell, a red flag, the que to push the panic button and high-tail it out of there. Setzer tilted his head, confused by her reaction. It was a road she wanted to avoid going down. But, to the best of her knowledge, no one was being carted off to a secret testing facility. She mulled over it for a while, glaring at him, jutting out her lower lip in a cute baby-girl pout.

Setzer was not Krew. Long eyelashes, cherubic features and boobs were not getting her anywhere. On the one hand, it was a breath of fresh air, on the other, it was _really annoying_ because the one job she knew she was one hundred percent good at—getting tips because of her looks—was out of her reach. Because of a law that must expressly forbid girls using their pretty face to get money from drunk men, or something. Sezter cleared his throat and added, "You can look for work first thing in the morning, another place to live, if you like—I won't have it be said that I left a girl on the streets."

She relaxed her glare, and started looking into other options. If bars were out of the question, maybe a gun store?

Setzer did not seem to realize she was deep in thought. He stood up—clearly eager to get her to leave the bar. He took his coat from the stand again and put it on, then put his hand on the door knob. "I don't live far—I'll take you there myself." He stood up and got the door for her.

Selling was out of the question, maybe she could stall him into a deal. It was just a _law_ after all. People broke laws in Haven City all the time, and it was no big deal at all. It was probably not even enforced. "Is there a gun store in this town?"

"_What?"_

"A gun store." She replied, "I can make guns—it's a hobby, but if I can't work in a bar..."

"No. There is no gun store in Twilight Town." He told her, "Guns are also not legal here. Have you worked in a place that is acceptable for a girl your age?"

Tess thought about it. Her uncle's gun store? Nope. The bar? Nope? The underground's in no-way medically sufficient hospital? Nope.

"I sold concessions at a racing arena, once."

And by concessions, she meant cigarettes, and beer and peanuts, but it was all she had to offer.

"We don't really have an arena in this town..."

"But I can do so many things!" she tried to sell her talents again, "I can wait tables, I can memorize cocktails in record time. I'm a better shot that any boy, I promise, I can—I'm a really good negotiator, and if you need me to find dirt on someone, I'm your girl. I'm a good spy, and I've got the third best record for breaking into a safe without using explosives."

"Tess, someday, you will tell me the riveting tale of how you acquired those skills." She could tell by his tone he did not believe her. He was not interested in letting any of her tactics work. He was not Krew—baseness could not get the better of him, and he wasn't Torn or Jak, impatience would not sway him, either. He took her arm like a complete gentleman and helped her to her feet. He steered her gently to the door.

She stuck out her lower lip and put her hand on her hip, before she could even try to pout again, he stopped her, "No, I'm sorry." He said, "I can't hire you—it's a law and I'm not going to break it. Nothing you can do will change that."

She opened her mouth, he cut her off again.

"I'll give you some money—"

She growled furiously.

"Don't refuse charity when you're begging for a job." He chided her, "You can look of a job and buy yourself some new clothes in the morning—"

"Excuse me?"

"As a general rule, it's bad form to look for a job with an exposed navel."

Tess looked at his waistline: Just above the shining metal skull at his belt, and peeking out behind the curtain of his tantalizingly-short purple shirt, was his belly button. He tried, and failed, to tug the shirt down without her noticing. He knew he was caught. She knew she had caught him.

It was not going to get her a job, but it would get her some satisfaction to not only have _his_ card in her hand, but a second one.

"Seifer's navel was exposed." She replied, snidely.

"Yes, and he's unemployed." Setzer smirked.

She huffed again, quieter this time.

Setzer made damn sure she followed him to his apartment that really was not too far away. It was just like his office. The reception desk and the foyer were pretty and well kept, but his apartment on its own was sparse and plain. The walls were white, there was only one couch, that folded out into a full bed, in front of a little television and one bedroom—not precisely bare bones—but a bit sparse, with the minimum furniture, and it all looked second hand, anyway. The table in the kitchen would comfortably seat two, but not many more. If Setzer did any entertaining, he must have used his own bar.

She looked at his extravagant clothes and did not even try to hide the judgment on her face.

Setzer chose to ignore it. He stated plainly, "I'll see you in the morning." And left again.

Tess sat down on the couch and frowned. To her, it had just been morning, and she was hardly tired. She looked at the clock, and saw that it was only twelve and thirty minutes—but that meant nothing to her, because it took her only two second to realize that this place—what even was this place?—could measure time anyway it wanted, and there was no promise it was like Haven City at all.

And that was fantastic.

She sat down on the couch and took the time to wonder what had happened to everyone else. Daxter said that he had the same dream as hers, but hers had filled her with such reassurance and warmth. She was the key to everything, the voice had told her, the key to saving the world.

But what was the point if it was lost now? Or, the point if it was still there, while she was here?

She summoned Cloverleaf to her and wondered deeply about it. She ran her fingers along the leaf-shaped double-head of the key's teeth. They were open, like hearts, ending in two teeth each time. It was a pale green, and she did not know what kind of metal it was. It sounded like solid steel—but it was as light as aluminum. The handle was pink and soft in her hand, decorated with a pink bow. It looked _right_ in her hand. It looked perfect.

But how could she save Haven City if she was not _in_ Haven City?

And why did everyone else fail the world's test? She could not be the only person worthy of a keyblade? Surely there must be one more? Why not Jak? What went wrong there? Perhaps if he had not been so jaded by his life?

She sighed heavily, laid back on the couch and admired her keyblade. She had never gotten a chance to really bond with it, and it kind of seemed important. It had gotten her through the darkness—but at least, to her, it had never been _just _a keyblade. It had always been, from the moment she had seen it, _Cloverleaf._

"But how do I get back?" she asked no one in particular, "There must be a way."


	6. Chapter 5

Taking orders from Nobody.

(disclaimed.)

I love this chapter. It's so peaceful.

* * *

Chapter Five:

Sand.

Keira picked herself up, felt it cave and shift under her outstretched fingers, her elbows. Sand? At first, she thought of the wasteland. She turned onto her back and looked for a light source. Slowly, the world came into focus. She saw a few rocks above her head, supported by each other and a few sturdy roots. There were some gaps in the rocks above her, and beyond them she could see stars.

There was a hissing, roaring rumble that shook the walls of the cave and led her hear the entrance. She followed the noise, and when she saw light from the outside, she knew it was the sound of waves on a beach. She picked up the pace and scrambled forward.

She lost her footing and fell into a freshwater pool. It was deliberately made, lined with wood along the edges, and smoothly laid stones and mortar at the bottom. It was freezing. The sudden cold jolted her out of her rush and calmed her down significantly. She had hardly realized that the panic had been bubbling inside her stomach. She righted herself and saw a little waterfall in the starlight. She climbed out of the pool and walked the rest of the way to the beach, dripping wet. She sat down on the sand and watched the waves roll in.

At least the waves sounded the same, and the sunrise looked the same on the water.

Except the sun was a pale yellow, for some reason.

A yellow sun. How strange. Keira took a handful of sand in her fingers and let it spill down. The sand felt the same. She took off her shoes and spread her toes. She was safe, for the time being. When the light improved—which looked to be soon—she would search the island for food, look for shelter, whatever needed to be done. She had not quite forgotten rustic life. She laid back on the sand and watched the sky lighten. She did not want to, but she could not help it. She wondered what happened to Jak and Daxter, and what had happened to Tess.

And there was the panic again, fluttering in her gut.

She caught a chill and rubbed her arms to warm herself. Everyone was gone. Daddy, Jak... Every one. She plopped down in the sand again. It was cool against the small of her back, a little damp. She looked up to the stars, tried to find a formation she recognized, she did not. She saw a moon, shining brightly in the sky, fading away as the pink from the sunrise lit up the sky. Warm pink on the sea, pink on the sand, so much warmer than the cold blue of the night. She watched the color creep across the sky, and she wondered if she would be alone on this island forever.

The pool was obviously man-made and the door was as well, and she saw a little bridge headed out to an island that was very close to the main one, a flat-topped spire jutting up from the water with a tree reaching out towards the sea, and a small dock on her right. They all looked fairly new—this place did not seem to be abandoned, but she saw no one, and the island was very small, she probably would have seen someone, or heard them.

Would she be alone forever?

She sat up again, and looked around. No one was around. As much as she dreaded to admit it, it was highly unlikely that she would see anyone she knew again. She tried to push the thought from her mind, but she failed. It was better, in some ways, to be in danger and with someone, than safe and so utterly alone. The creeping feeling returned—that same all-consuming fear that she felt when she called Jak, and she had heard it in his voice as well. Oh, he tried so valiantly to hide it—he always tried to hide it. But boys his age had fifteen, sixteen years to keep emotions out of their voice, poor Jak had been given only one and a third, by his guess, and he had just that much time keeping his emotions from running wild over the lines of his face, and out of his body language. He wore that broken heart on his sleeve, and there was no way he could ever truly learn to hide it away.

She tried not to think about Jak. Thinking about him just made her miss him all the more—and brought with him memories of her father, and Daxter, and Tess. Also Ashelin, but she did not miss her all that much, and Krew, but he was dead already and that was good riddance, in her opinion. There was an entire line of people, most of which Keira did not know, that were simply _gone._ It was hard to comprehend—it was impossible.

It was so unfair that he was not with her. She had only just found him again. After two years, he was gone in the blink of an eye. Everything was gone in the blink of an eye. How could it happen so quickly? She wanted to tell herself that she was only dreaming. In a while, she would wake up in her bed and none of this would have happened. Nothing at all. But she knew that was not true. Everything up until this point was still burned vividly into her mind. She could recall details from her dream of the void, Jak's face, broken in anguish, on the pillar of glass.

As much as she wanted to sit there and cry, there were much more important things to do.

The sky had gone from the pink of the dawn to the blue of morning, so she picked herself up and began to explore the island for resources. There were fish in the sea, and fresh water to drink, she could sharpen a stick to skewer them and build a fire to cook them, so she could last a week on that alone. The trees held coconuts, and hidden in nooks and crannies, there were probably mushrooms to eat. She could survive, though she did not know how long.

If she could cut down the trees, she could build herself a raft and drift on the tide, but that would certainly be suicide, she could not see any sign of land, and it was unlikely that the current would take her anywhere friendly—if only she had an axe. There had been people here, that much she knew, there were many places to find shelter, the cave she had entered, a little shack with a set of stairs leading to the second island. She dropped down from the bridge to the beach again and continued to walk. It did not look abandoned.

But no axe!

And even then, no rope.

The structures were rudimentary, but very stable. They would weather a storm.

By the precursors, there was a raft!

What was it doing here? Had someone sailed here? Had it drifted here? Fortunately, she saw no dead bodies or skeletons near it, and that was an encouraging sign. Whoever put it there might have gotten off of the island, and it did not look damaged, so she could use it, in emergency, but perhaps it had drifted here, and whoever had sailed it had been rescued?

It was not a perfect vessel. Rafts did not take on water, but they were not particularly stable, and the sail was not very easily controlled. Who ever made this had a loose grasp on raft making. Keira had to give them credit, though, it was much better than she could do. Without an abundance of spare parts laying around, this really was the absolute best she had.

And she would take it, in due time.

Navigating the island became difficult after that—she was blocked by an smooth wall of solid rock, it had been assailed by the sea for many years before the waves had stilled, bringing sand with them, forming the little pocket of vegetation. She looked towards the water. Growing up in Sandover she had learned to avoid swimming when it was possible. Large, open bodies of water gave her the knee-jerk reaction of 'shark.' But it looked shallow enough for her to risk it. She rolled up her pants until they were just above her knee instead of below, and sloshed out into the water.

The fish swam away from her. They were wily and would not be caught by luck alone. She did manage to get a good look around the corner of the wall. The edge jutted up and plunged down—the water was deep enough that her gut screamed, 'sharks!' again. She turned back, and walked back to the raft.

Her wet clothes had begun to annoy her.

No one was around, right?

She peeled off her shirt, and then her pants—the heavy cotton fabric would take a day to dry—and climbed up the wooden watch tower. There was a zip line leading across the area—a faster way of travel than the bridge below. She slung her discarded clothes over the zip line and climbed down again. Her under clothes were damp, but they were better than nothing.

She tried not to think about what anyone would say.

She got as high as she could on that rock wall, and she found a tunnel, which lead her all the way back to where she had started—she could see her boots where she left them on the beach. Carefully, she dropped down onto the flat rock below, and continued to look around. Despite all of the construction, the entire island did not look like an actual home—it was all style and no substance—it was more of a large club-house.

That implied that there was somewhere else people were coming from.

Perhaps she _should _put her clothes back on...

But they were too _wet_ for that.

She made her way back to the cave she had found herself in. Now that it was lighter, she could see things more clearly. The rocks had been drawn on; nothing with any apparent meaning, just doodles and things, like the kind children would draw.

She should _really_ put her clothes back on.

But she thought of the wet denim and she shuddered.

She took a drink from the pool, and it was the purest water she had ever tasted. It reminded her of that one time she had followed the river in the forbidden jungle all the way to its source with Jak. It was too inconvenient to go more than once—too dangerous—but they had been berry picking and had gotten side tracked, and—

"Whose boots are these?"

By the Precursors, not _now!_

"Probably hers." a second voice replied.

Keira froze—she had no idea what to do. Here she was, half naked, and there were strangers walking right up to her.

"Hey!" the first voice called, and soon there was the sound of running feet in sand. Keira dove into the nearest foliage to hide. The nearest foliage, however, was completely inadequate, and did not help much. Kiera crouched down and covered her chest with her arms, and hoped they dismissed her as a hallucination.

Not a chance.

Both of them cornered her, and the girl in the yellow dress crouched down to get a better look at her. She had a rounded face, with pretty green eyes and brown hair that flipped up neatly. The second girl also had dark hair, though hers was much more red, and she wore a pink dress with about five too many zippers—though some of them may have been just for decoration. This second one, Keira could not see very clearly because of the sun's angle.

And, she noticed, their ears were strangely... short.

Did they even _have_ ears?

"Who are you?"

"K-keira." She answered.

"I'm Selphie." The green-eyed girl replied. Her voice was high-pitched and nasal, but sweet. She reached up for the tip of Keira's long ear, but took her hand back before she touched it. She realized how rude it would be. She straightened up, and her face was obscured by the clash of sun and shadow.

The other girl knelt down now, "I'm Kairi." She said, her voice was much smoother, much more conventional. Her eyes were blue, and her red hair hung flat. She scooted back a bit, to give Keira room to stand, room Keira did not take. "Why don't you come on out of there?"

"I'm in my underwear."

"I'm sure the trees don't mind." Kairi replied, "They've seen Wakka naked you can't be much worse."

Selphie giggled. Keira did not know Wakka personally, so she had no idea what Kairi's point really was. She shook her head. Kairi frowned and put a hand on her hip. Eventually, she asked, "Titus and Wakka are one hundred percent not coming, right?"

"What part of 'blitzball boot camp with impromptu card tourney' do you not understand?"

They held a glance for a moment. Then shrugged and removed their dresses, Selphie fiddling with buttons and Kairi unzipping the zipper on the left side of her dress. They folded their clothes up neatly and looked expectantly at Keira.

"What if someone else comes?" she asked.

Selphie shrugged again, dropped her dress down beside Keira, and said, "Anyway, the cave drawings."

"Right!" Kairi replied. She set her dress down and followed her, "Right, of course."

They disappeared down the tunnel, and everything was silent until Keira heard a giggle and the words, "Still don't know what that door does."

"Me neither."

Curious, she crawled out of hiding and followed the two girls down the tunnel into the cave. They were sitting down in the sand and pointing out the drawings to each other, "You remember that one."

"Yes but I don't remember what I was _thinking_."

"Oh _you_."

They laughed for a while, and then Kairi pointed towards one that was very close to the door, "I remember looking at that one, and when we drew each other." She said. She scooted closer to it, and continued, "I don't remember his face—not really. But at least I can remember he can't draw."

Selphie moved closer, too, "No. No he can't. Riku was the artist."

Keira stood behind them and looked at the drawing. Two people had obviously drawn it. The 'he' in question must have drawn the sloppy-looking girl and the arm handing the star to her. Kairi—Keira assumed it was Kairi—must have drawn the much neater-looking boy.

Kairi rested her chin on her hands, and said, "Why did we all forget Sora?"

"How could you forget someone?" Keira asked.

"We don't know." Selphie replied, "We just did. We figure it's been about a year—we just remembered him last week."

"Does that sort of thing happen _often_ around here?"

They looked at each other, then they looked at her. Kairi spoke first "Not exactly that, but we have our fair share of weird. Actually, _you're_ one of the weirder things. How did you get here?"

Keira had no genuine answer, "I just sort of found myself here."

"Yeah, so did _Kairi."_ Selphie said, and she did not give Keira a chance to ask for clarification, "What happened before you got here?"

"My home, Haven City, was attacked by the creatures—black shadows with yellow eyes."

"Ah." Kairi nodded, an understanding smile on her face, "Those are called the Heartless. And they took this place before Sora vanished—and my home before that, too."

"Does everyone whose world gets taken end up here?"

"No, there are other worlds—and some people just vanish. You and I are the lucky ones. You must be someone special."

"Suppose he just vanished, too?" Keira sat down in the sand, her knees bent and her feet to her right side. She cupped her ankles in her right hand and leaned on her left. The three girls were seated in a circle in the cool, dark cave, which filled with the roar of the waves, like it was breathing.

"No." Kairi shook her head, "No, not Sora. He's special, too. He's—" she stopped, reached for Keira's hand, and said, "Tell us your story, Keira."

"Do you want me to start with Heartless or—"

"It will take _hours_ for your clothes to dry." Selphie replied, "Tell us everything. Start at the very beginning."

"But that was so long ago."

"You're only, what, sixteen? I'm fifteen, that's not too long. Your story can't be much longer than mine, or Riku's."

Keira quipped, "My story starts one thousand and fifty years ago—"

"What."

"You asked for the whole story." She replied, curtly, and the whole story was what she told them. Starting with Sandover Village, and every single inhabitant, saving the best, saving _Jak_ for last, for this was as much his story as hers, and as much Daxter's story as it was his. She told them about his smile, how his laugh was so rich, despite the fact that he did not have a voice, how his eyes were so expressive and so blue, and how every bit of him was seeped in emotion. How much she loved him, and how much he must have loved her, and how close he and Daxter were. Selphie practically swooned. She stretched out in the sand, chin propped on her hands. Kairi smiled shamelessly, her knees tucked to her chest. Keira painted the portrait of her paradise, from the hut her father lived in, to the vast, intricate citadel of Gol and Maia Acheron, who lived far, far to the North.

She told them, then, of the Precursors, and the structures under the earth, the treasures that could be found, and about the eco—though she had a bit of trouble explaining that—and about the orbs and the power cells, and anything else she could think of to tell them. She wove everything together tightly, tight enough, and perfect enough, to hold the rest of the tale.

Because then it was time for them to learn how it was all lost.

She started with the forbidden trip to Misty Island, how the Dark Eco transformed Daxter into an Ostelle, and traveling their small part of the world to find Gol and Maia Acheron, and arriving—completely by dumb luck—just in time to stop their terrible plans from succeeding. How, during that time, she would not see him for days on end, and she just had to go on faith that he was alive.

And when that story was done, she began the next.

She told them of how they were pushed through the rift while everyone they had ever known was slaughtered behind them, then, she told them about arriving in Haven City, falling into the waters of the port, how she knew, not from the metal buildings, the zoomers flying over head, but by the murky, toxic water that she had come to a new land, and how lost she had been. She told them about the wall, and what lay beyond; the metal heads, the forest, the mountain, but mostly the wasteland; the vast, sprawling sea of sand, and about Erol, how kind he had been to her, setting her on her feet again, giving her a bed to sleep in, food to eat, promising to find Jak for her, to protect her from a new world that frightened her, and asking only for the occasional tune-up for his racing zoomer. It was no paradise, but it was what she had; hope and promises.

And, once again, it was torn down.

While she told this story; her best friend, the boy she had been desperate to find again, was a face on a wanted poster she did not recognize, the single weapon against an invasion she had not known was just about to start, a bitter, harsh voice behind a green curtain she had never head before; a prisoner Erol had kept hidden from her. She found her emotions had begun to bubble very near the surface. This had all been quite recent. After she had found Jak and Daxter again, the time had flown by, and every day had been filled with an indirect jab at her. For two years, she had sat back and done nothing to find him. She had swallowed each and every one of Erol's lies like they were sweets. Jak had become so cold. He was like ice on the outside, with a fierce, burning rage inside, he was still so lost, and she had only just managed to bring him back to something that could be considered normal.

Keira had managed to bring herself to tears. She had so many reasons too. She was found, but every place she had ever known, and everyone she had ever loved was gone, and this was the second time such a misfortune had come to her. Kairi and Selphie were kind enough to let her sob between them. The three had moved from the shelter of the cave to the little island. All three were sitting on the leaning tree, Kairi closest the water, Selphie closest to the land.

"Oh, Keira!" Selphie exclaimed when she tripped over the words. She rubbed her back, "Keira, it's not all lost."

"You said you had a dream about standing in a void, on a glass pillar?"

"Yes."

"Are you said you called a friend, Tess—and she said she had the same dream, but unlike you, she passed the dreams' test. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Then she, at the very least, might have survived, too. That weapon was called a Keyblade. It is the only thing that can truly defeat the Heartless—It protected Sora from the darkness, it might have done the same for her."

Without any prompting, Kairi launched into her _own_ tale, and hers was a great deal more fantastic than Keira's, and traveling in the exact opposite direction. She started in a large city, which she could only remember bits and pieces of. Namely, she could remember a library, and her grandmother, and she could recall the presence, but not the name or face, of a playmate. And she remembered one chilling detail: missing person posters. They had been scattered everywhere in the last few days. Even that playmate of hers had gone—or so she recalled.

And then, just "like a bandage being ripped off" she said, that world was all gone, and she just had Destiny Islands, and Selphie, Wakka, Titus, and Riku, and finally, Sora, the boy she had forgotten. For ten years, the Islands were her home, until, just like that city had been, it was lost to her when the Heartless came. She, Sora and Riku were the only "Survivors" from that. The rest were lost in the darkness—Selphie took the time to inform Keira that she had no memories whatsoever of being lost in the dark, to which Kairi replied that everything was restored to exactly the way it was left when Sora defeated Ansem.

She explained that the witch Maleficent was controlling the Heartless, and it was she who found Riku and welcomed him into the fold of evil, also, it was she who located her body. She was in a coma at the time, because she had locked her heart away inside Sora's.

"Back up." Selphie shook her head, "What now?"

Kairi tried again.

She told them about the seven princesses of heart, which were vital to opening the door to darkness, which was where Kingdom Hearts—the heart of all worlds—was hidden, and she was one of them. She then told them that she was _not_ particularly good at telling stories, and so Selphie could be quiet and let her do her best.

She started at the beginning again, this time addressing every little detail she could. It was much clearer this time.

Sort of.

Keira at least understood enough to smile and nod, and she knew the basic gist of the story. Riku had disappeared when Ansem, who had caused all of this trouble, possessed him, and was subsequently defeated just before opening Kingdom Hearts. Riku, and a talking mouse named King Mickey—who was a friend of two traveling companions of Sora's, a duck named Donald and a dog named Goofy, both of whom could talk and Keira did not find that strange at all—were locked inside Kingdom Hearts. Kairi had returned to the islands (or, rather, the islands had returned to Kairi) and Sora went to look for Riku.

Neither one had been seen again.

And about a month and a half after the island's return, Kairi, and everyone else, had forgotten Sora completely, but not Riku, only to gradually remember him, piece by piece. But she could not remember his face. She looked at a photograph of him, and he still looked like a complete stranger.

When she finished her tale—Selphie had no such grand stories—the three sat on the tree and watched the waves roll in. It seemed to Keira that these islands were just meant for people who waited. A kind of limbo.

* * *

Averted the five chapter curse, but barely started chapter six.


	7. Chapter 6

Taking orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimed.)

It's come to my attention that Keira and Daxter will ultimately run out of things to do.

I don't know if I'll do their chapters every other set to spread out the narrative, or just strait up have them sitting around TWTNW with a kidnapped Kairi going, "We know, like, FIVE heroes between us. WHERE IS THE RESCUE PARTY?!"

* * *

Chapter six:

"He's dangerous."

Yuffie was hardly listening, "Yes, I know."

Leon was actually talking to himself. "He's just a kid."

"Yes, Squall, I know that, too."

Leon glanced at her. She was tinkering with Jak's gun. She was not supposed to. She knew she was not supposed to. Jak would be upset if she did it again, and that was the last thing Leon wanted. An emotionally unstable Jak was probably a _physically_ unstable Jak. He tugged off his glove, looked at the wicked-looking scar on his hand. Normal wounds from _normal_ thunder looked like branching lightning bolts. This was _not_ normal. This had a tinge to it, a dark purple color, like a bruise. His entire arm ached, from his palm to his elbow, a dull burning throb that seemed to go down to the bone. He could hardly move his fingers.

He did not know what to think.

He did not want to trust Jak, but he did not want to _dis_trust him, either. He was only a boy—just a little older than Sora. He was crass, could turn in to a monster at the drop of a hat, but he was clearly not evil. Still, Leon looked at the mark on his hand from where that _stuff_ had burned him and he could think of at least one reason not to trust him at all.

"What if it happens again?"

"What if what happens again?"

Leon did not answer. It did not matter what anyone said, what excuses they fed themselves, what logic they cooked up to assure everyone else, assure _him,_ that Jak was stable, in control of _it_ and safe, whenever Leon looked at him all he could see was that _monster._ He had seen it better than the others. He had been closer. Too close. All he saw had been just a flash as Cid's light had swept past, but it was enough. When it had settled, he could hardly believe it, that clawed, horned, gray-skinned, black eyed _monster_ had become normal_. _He wanted to disbelieve his eyes, say it was a trick of the light, nothing more, but then he saw the torn cuticles, the ripped skin under his hair and the hidden horns. He could not disregard the bad wound on his hand.

What if it happened again and he was not around to keep everyone safe?

He wished he had not seen it. He wished he could just dismiss it like Yuffie and Cid did, ignore it, like Cloud, look past it like Aerith, because he _knew_ the reality of the situation. He knew it objectively. Standing between the world and that monster was a mostly decent, reasonably cooperative, blond teen that did not want to hurt anyone and just wanted to find his friend again.

There was a story there. A story Leon did not know—and he did not want to know because it had to be horrible, but he still _needed_ to know, because if they knew what triggered him, they could move any potential triggers very far away. He massaged his injured palm. Pressure and touch hurt.

He had to know.

But he did not _want_ to ask because Jak was—what? What was he, fifteen? Seventeen? A bad past like that—it had to be traumatic. No one just _took_ turning into a gray-skinned, horned, lightning-flinging demon in stride. And if Jak _had_ taken it in stride, then the 'Dark Eco' was not the issue, he was simply insane.

Leon did not want to think that, either.

Mostly because Merlin just handed Jak a fire element and stepped back cautiously.

"Now, my boy, remember. A very strong emotion. The strongest ones you have."

Jak looked reluctant.

"Just try it." Aerith urged. Leon barely heard it through the glass and he had to depend on lip reading.

He heard Jak huff, then say, like a child that did not want to do as he was told, "Fire—" _FWOOSH "_Woah!"

A beautiful ring of fire spread out around him. Jak jumped, turned, face following the main body, a free-floating ball of flame and magic, eyes wide with wonder. Then his face changed. Merlin had told him a very strong emotion. It did not take him long to find it. It was like he latched onto the most violent and rage-filled memory he had, clutched it in an iron fist. Leon felt a chill. Jak spread his arms wide, palms out, and shouted much louder this time, "_Fire_!"

Leon jumped. Yuffie's looked at the window just in time to see a few flickering tongues of flames. Aerith and Merlin threw themselves backwards. Aerith recovered much more quickly than the old man did. A wave of fire burst from his hands. It traveled about a yard, singed Merlin's beard and shook the glass with a shock wave. It was so powerful Leon felt a little residual heat warm the window. Jak was delighted with himself. Leon had never thought he would see him smile so brightly. But it was not just the smile. It was a pleased little bounce, like a boxer in the ring, ready to move, and for the first time since he arrived, the boy actually _looked _like he was seventeen.

Then he saw Leon.

He stopped smiling.

Merlin snatched the fire element away from him. Jak jumped, the magic smile gone. He was nervous again. Maybe it was Leon—did he look scary? Certainly he was not afraid of _Merlin. _Who could be afraid of a sagely old man like Merlin? He shook his head, his long beard wagging as he gave Jak a quick, firm lecture about responsibility. Jak shrunk away. Aerith laid a gentle hand on his back, gave him a pat. Merlin took a different element, put it in Jak's hand, then backed away _(much_ further this time) and pointed at a target.

Jak looked at the element. It was the size of a marble, easily held in hand, glowing just a bit in the light. He closed his fingers around it reached out his hand, fingers outstretched, and focused his attention on the target. There was a loud crack, a flash of light. The Styrofoam block exploded, the edges black and scorched. Jak looked at his hand, wiggled his fingers as little sparks danced between the tips, and smiled again.

It was good to know, he supposed, that despite the clearly bad things he had been through, that Jak was just a teenager after all. Probably had a bunch of other, normal teenager problems to deal with on top of a bad and traumatic past. Poor kid. That might be Sora in a couple of years.

He hoped that was not Sora in a couple of years.

He turned away from the window. He was curious.

He did not _want_ to be curious.

He did not know _why_ he was curious.

"What are you doing?" Yuffie asked from the new table.

"I'm curious."

He had never been curious with anyone else—although, there had only been Sora before this, and there was no reason to be curious with Sora. Sora was an open book and told Leon everything, even things he had never wanted to hear. He opened the front door. Aerith saw him at once, from her seat on a white patio chair. She must have seen he wanted to talk.

She did not _want_ him to talk. She stood up, squared off against him (with the highest degree of subtlety). She fixed him with a glare, and shook her head, slightly, before saying, "We're teaching him magic."

"So I saw." he tried to step around her.

She stepped in front of him. "He's quite good."

That was not the message she was trying to convey.

She really did not want him to talk to Jak. She was using her special voice. A tense thing only she was capable of, alerting everyone to the elephant in the room without standing up, pointing and exclaiming, _oh my. Look. An elephant._ Jak stopped smiling again, dropped his hand to his side and looked Leon over, his eyes flickering to Aerith. He was clearly nervous. They must have spoken. Leon looked back to her. She was subtly frowning—not really an expression in her mouth, but in her eyes.

Leon wished, he really wished, he could be truculent and dismissive to Aerith. The ability would come in handy for times like this. Leon tried to fake small talk, "I saw that fire spell—what was behind that?"

Aerith opened her mouth to speak. Jak, it seemed, was dead set on digging himself a grave, "Anger."

"Well that's normal." Aerith assured him. Her question was fixed _directly_ at Leon, "Isn't it?"

"Sure. I guess maybe thunder is excitement or anticipation or—?"

"No." Jak shrugged, "That was anger too."

Aerith pressed her lips together in a thin, upset line. She was clearly trying to help Jak curry favor and trust. Jak was either not catching on, or he was determined to fail.

"Everything is anger, isn't it?"

Jak might be _trying_ to fail for some reason. That, or he did not seem to realize Leon did not trust him in the slightest. Or perhaps he did, he just did not care. Perhaps he was trying to get thrown out. "Yes."

"That..." Leon could hardly believe it, "That's not healthy."

Seized by something, Aerith turned around abruptly and hooked her fingers around a macrame cord around her neck, face filled with softly chiseled determination, eyes flashing. She took the cure element from around her neck and grabbed a hold of Jak's wrist, twisting the cord around his arm, so the small green crystal sphere dangled in its knotted cage near his little finger.

Jak stared at it, "Which one is this?"

"Cure." she told him bluntly. "You must find find a happy memory for a cure spell to work. Anger will not heal anything."

Jak was quite for a moment. He stared at it, thinking. A few subtle changes came over him as the thought. Leon saw the beginnings of that brilliant smile he had seen before, but then it stopped, fell abruptly, and was replaced with something horrible and sinister. Then he grew angry, and Leon worried he was a hair away from shouting at Aerith or attacking her. Then he shrugged, let it go with a bitter, sarcastic laugh, and unwrapped the cord from his wrist, "Well, you'd better take this back then. I don't have any happy memories."

"Jak, that's not true." He glared at her. Her gentle tones would not work with him. She took a step back, "Y-you must have _something_ happy, maybe your young childhood, a memory of a friend, a mother—You... Really don't have anything?"

He considered it. Leon was positive he saw something that vaguely resembled happiness. Jak hid it away quickly, like an angsty teenager hiding dirty magazines from a longtime friend. He was determined to be seen as the tragic anti-hero. "Memories don't work like that. One thing connects to another and they all lead somewhere..." he looked for a different word, "Painful."

He meant it.

Aerith's eyelashes fluttered, her mouth moved like she was going to say something, but she did not. She looked from Jak's face to the Cure Element dangling from his fingers on its cord. She would not be outfoxed. The lesson she intended for him to learn, the point she was trying to prove, _would_ be adhered to. She picked it up, wrapped it around his hand again and Jak grumbled something and put up a front of trying to pull away. He wanted to learn it, too. Leon glanced down at his injured hand. Aerith would be a lot more content if she did not see it. He just wanted to make sure the marks were covered, and they were.

Jak must have seen it. Perhaps he had some kind of innate sense of Dark Eco. He took a step forward. "Let me see that."

Leon did not want to touch him. He took a step back, "No, no it's fine."

"I _need_ to see that." Jak nearly shouted. He grabbed Leon's wrist and jerked it between then, turned his palm up and shoved the long sleeve he had worn to hide it back, revealing the full extent of the injury, and the dark lines that extended halfway up his forearm. Leon was used to the sight already. What interested him where the boys hands. There were scars from where his nails had split the cuticles and skin behind them (but he had seen those before). The daylight let new details surface, his nails were weaken by constant growth and shrinking. They did not adhere to the nail bed very well. The slightest pressure could be used to tug them out.

And the veins. Jak had his sleeves rolled back to his elbows, Leon could clearly see his veins. The bulging kind that came with physical labor, body building—they were not unusual. He could also see the pattern of blue lines that came with fair complexion. Jak's had a dark tinge to his. Almost black. So long as those veins were black, Leon supposed, that monster could always return.

Jak raised his free hand over his palm. Leon felt a tug. Jak gritted his teeth, closed his eyes with the effort. The tug grew a little stronger. It was deep. Down to the marrow. But it did not last long. Half a second, then there was a dizzying rush and the dark purple color drained from the scars, where it pooled in his palm. He felt like there were many pins beneath the skin, pushing out, trying to get to Jak's hand.

Leon wanted to ask if he had done this before, but he did not dare break his concentration. All of the dark eco jumped out rushed into Jak's palm. He cringed, pulled back quickly. Leon saw a quick change go trough him. As the boy's eyelids fluttered in pain, Leon noticed they were not blue and white anymore. They were solid black. Just for a second. Less than a heartbeat. Then they were blue again.

That was unsettling. He stepped back, tested his palm and fingers. No pain. Nothing. He was fine. He need to get to the bottom of this. "Jak. I need to speak with—"

Aerith coughed. It was fake. Jak noticed.

"_Aerith_." Leon lied, "For a moment."

Jak glanced to her, then gave Merlin a wary glance. Leon wondered how he could _not _trust the old man, but it was clearly written on his face. He did not want Aerith to leave his side. Aerith might not have noticed, but that was very... _un-Aerith. _She must have noticed. She placed a hand on Jak's shoulder, smiled broadly, and said, "Happy memories, okay?"

Jak surrendered, brushed her off. "_Fine._"

The two of them walked to the wall near by. They did not speak a word until they reached that secluded destination. She sat down on the thin, knee-high rail overlooking the stairs. Leon remained standing. She smoothed out her skirt and did not bother asking Leon what he wanted. She knew he would say it.

He said it, "Has he told you anything?"

Aerith had a slippery, sly gaze that never gave anything away. "A few things, yes."

"You don't look too pleased."

Of course, Aerith was never one for gossip and petty talk. She looked at him for a second, then looked away, "I'm not proud of how I got it. Looking back on it it felt like extortion. He clearly wanted to hide it. I shouldn't have asked. I shouldn't say anything. I shouldn't tell you."

"What things?"

"We should just pretend we never saw what we saw. I should just pretend I never heard what I did." She started nervously fiddling with her hair. Leon wondered if it was because she was fibbing, or because she had sworn secrecy. He knew Jak had not threatened her. Aerith would have said that up front, "When Sora comes around again we should make up something _happier _and pray he never asks Jak anything."

"Aerith, I can't ignore it."

She looked up at him, "You're going to ask him yourself if I don't tell you?"

"I saw it better than you did. I don't want to see that monster again. If I know what's behind it—"

She turned her doe-eyed stare up to max power. Leon winced. She said it like Jak was some mangy dog he had just threatened to put down. "I don't think you'll like what you find."

"What do you mean? What has he told you?"

"Enough. I read between the lines.

"But what did he _say_?"

Aerith was bothered now, "Why does it matter?"

"Because he's a monster—"

"Don't say it like that. It's not like that."

"It's exactly like that."

Aerith averted her gaze. She knew it was like that, "Fine. But don't say it. It's mean."

"Think of a better word and I'll use it." She averted her gaze the other direction. Leon folded his arms. He was not worth of her gaze anymore, apparently, "Maybe he just won't tell you things?" he asked.

"He'll tell me things."

"Aerith—"

"Everyone tells me things." she assured him, softly, and then she insisted, "Leon, don't pry. Don't make him tell the story again. You're impossible to talk too."

"If he can transform into that..." he felt terrible saying it, but he really did not know what else to call it. _"Monster_ again."

"I told you not to say it like that!"

"I told you to think of a better word."

"He's a child."

"Yes I know, but—"

She delivered an ultimatum. "If you ask him—you'll have to tell him about Rinoa."

There was a long pause.

"What? Why the hell would I do that?"

"Oh!" Aerith's eyes darted around. She had talked herself into a corner, "I—um. I might have told him about Kairi."

"What!?"

"And Zack. And Lea. And Isa." she had lost ground and she struggled to recover. "But not Rinoa!"

"Why did you do _that_?!"

She got careless. She slipped down another twenty feet. "That's what made him open up!"

"Missing teenagers?" Leon did not wait for her to answer—she did not answer anyway. "Was he kidnapped?"

Aerith kept her lips locked. She was falling down with the avalanche but she was still tethered to base camp. Leon waited. He was watching her dangle from a rope and she was refusing to let him pull her back up. She could convey a thousand sentiments with the blink of an eye but she crumbled when real, raw emotions came into play. Empathy was funny like that.

"You do realize that you might as well tell me yourself? Because I will ask."

"Why? What does it matter?"

"Because he can turn into a monster and I need to know how to keep it in check."

"It's fine." She stood up. This was beyond stubborn. This was over-protective. Leon took a step back. He supposed Aerith was capable of seeing the teenager a little better than he could, and she was determined that this place would be different. Hollow Bastion would not be a place that chewed him up and spit him out. "It won't happen again. He needs Dark Eco and that isn't in Hollow Bastion. You can relax. You can leave him be. If you ask now you'll just be bullying him."

"You think I'm a bully?"

She looked a bit ashamed now, "... no."

Metaphorically, Leon reached down for the rope. He watched Aerith swing there, eyes on her boots as she clutched it. "So tell me."

She sighed, frowned a little, then said, "He said that when he was fifteen he was taken off the street and put in an experimental program that injected him with Dark Eco. But he kept quiet, defensive, until I told him Kairi was alive, just not in Hollow Bastion."

"Did you tell him where she was?"

"Of course I told him. I had to. I was just as curious as you are."

Leon could have laughed if it was not so serious, "Did he tell you more?"

"Yes. Much more. The Dark Warrior Program—that was what he called it—was meant to create super soldiers. The experiments failed—except for Jak. He was the only survivor."

"To fight Heartless?"

"No. No he called them Metal heads. He was only fifteen." She paused, let that sink in. "He was Sora's age. He knows why it worked. He was good at channeling Eco. It's why is so adept at magic—but he does not know how _they_ knew about him."

"Fifteen?" Leon echoed, "He's not fifteen now."

"No. He's not." Aerith shook her head.

"Were they all kids?"

"No. The rest were criminals."

Leon did not like where this was going.

"It's not how you think." Aerith told him, "Yes, there were inmates that were cruel to him, but there were others that were kind to him, kept him safe from the worst ones. But good or bad, they all started getting weaker, dying off. He... spared me he details. But you've seen what it does... the m—" she caught herself, "—way it effects him. It is a gruesome way to go. He was angry, there was nothing he could do. Sometimes he was glad they were dying, they were either cruel to him, or they could escape the madness, the pain would end soon. Then, he was afraid. He'd seen them all go, until he was the last one, faced with the possibility of dying alone. Like I said. It's not a pretty story."

Leon was glad he had not asked Jak. No one should be forced to tell that story twice. He could hardly believe Aerith had managed to stomach it. Sometimes, she was made from harder stuff than he was.

"What troubles me—He started to tell me about _someone _involved with the program. He said he was a government liaison, a supervisor with out any scientific background, but then he stopped, clammed up. He refused to tell me anymore after that." She glanced back to where Jak practiced his magic with Merlin. Nothing had happened for a while. Leon wondered if the boy was getting another lecture or if he was taking a break. "Everything else he surrendered freely, but it was like he was describing the plot of a novel. Objective and distant. He's come to terms with what was done. I don't think he's made his peace with it."

Leon crossed his arms, leaned back on the chain link fence and closed his eyes.

He was not curious anymore.

Of course, now he felt _obligated_ to know. He had started it, now he was going to see it through to the end. That was silly. He was not _obligated_ to know. If Jak wanted to keep his mouth shut about it, that was his business. Aerith was right. It was wrong to make someone live their worst moments over and over again just because he wanted to hear it, recovery be damned. Let it go. Leon did not have to know anything about it. He could have gone his entire life not knowing the back story. It had not made him feel any better about anything. He simply need to know that the monster was under control.


	8. Chapter 7

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

Jak has more plot—So he'll be getting two chapters for every set. I just could not cram all that needed to be said and shown in under ten pages.

* * *

Chapter seven:

"Were you listening, Jak?"

With one ear, yes, Jak had been listening. He did not bother telling Merlin he had exceptional hearing, or that it was _very _bothersome Aerith and Leon were just on the fringe of what he could pick up. He knew they were talking about him. What else did they have to talk about? He could hear the patterns of speech from the wall—but he could not hear the exact words. It was not hard to guess what they were saying to each other, Leon was probably asking her how dangerous he was, and he was not going to stop until he got the answer he clearly wanted; that Jak was dangerous, and needed to be kicked out of town.

"Then what did I say?" the old wizard asked, "What did I just tell you?"

Jak looked at his wrist, with the three little marble-sized elements, cure, thunder, and blizzard. The latter two were in spiraled copper wire cages and clasped to he cord with lobster-claw closures. The most fascinating thing about them was the way they moved inside, the perpetually wilting and blooming flower, the tiny ball of pure electricity, the slowly spiraling snowflake, the old man had been talking about Blizzard, specifically. "Blizzard is the most dangerous magic spell." Jak repeated verbatim, "While fire is capable of producing anything form minor superficial skin damage to third degree burns, blizzard, if cast directly onto a person, will start an ice crystal inside the body, causing deep tissue damage, immediate cell death, and rupture internal organs."

Merlin was flustered his attempt to stump him had failed. He tried to do it again. "And what emotion is it best channeled with?"

"Despair. Sorrow beyond measure. Empathy."

Again. Verbatim.

"And is that what you were feeling when you cast this... this _insult to magic_?" Merlin waved his hand. A few lingering snowflakes danced and swirled in the air, blown by his sleeve. Jak ruffled his hair. A few more flakes fell to the stone ground. There was a sludgy mess at his feet.

"I told you. I don't get _sad. _I get _angry."_

The laughter of the few children in drifted towards them, and Jak wondered just now much of the town was now covered in slightly aggressive snowflakes. He had tried to make an ice crystal. He had tried to push himself into a deep depression, but he had spent years fighting against that. If he got sad, he would go still, waste away in it, and do nothing. Anger might be bad for him, it might raise his blood pressure, shorten his lifespan by five years and demolish all hope of positive social interaction—but it was damn good motivation.

He supposed Merlin was the type of fellow that got out of bed to teach the world how to be better, and that was fine and dandy, but that was not who Jak was. Jak got out of bed because he wanted to grab the world by the collar, slam its head against a wall and _make_ it better.

And he could not do that if he was curled up in bed listening to sad music and weeping pathetically.

To be fair to himself, it was quite a _large_ flurry, covering the square, rooftops, and the streets. Jak could not see a single surface not covered by snow. It was impressive, sure, whatever, but it was not_ terrifying._ It was comical. He wanted fire. He held out his hand, palm up. "Give me the Fire Element so I can melt this snow."

"No!" Merlin took a step back, "You're too angry. You might hurt your self."

Merlin was not concerned solely for Jak's safety, and they both knew it. Jak did not think Merlin was concerned for his safety at all. Jak certainly was not. But the old man had a point, there were kids outside now. Jak could disregard his own well being just fine—he could not disregard theirs.

"Well, take this one back, at least, it's of no use to me."

Merlin did not take it back. He handed Jak another one, just as small as the others, with a little white swirl in the center. It shimmered. There was a little gale inside, a tiny tornado in a marble, "And this is...?"

"This is air. It is a defensive spell, and will surround you with winds so powerful nothing can get through and hurt you. So strong they will push anyone near you back." he took Jak by this wrist and forcibly latched the charm onto the cord, right next to Cure. "They can even move _you. _Like Cure, it's happiness, but not a joy of love or fondness for others. Wind is pure elation, self-satisfaction. When you are so happy you might fly. Do you have any faith in yourself, Jak? Any pride?"

He did not let the hand go. He patted he back of his hand and smiled at him fondly. Jak jerked away. He was getting tired of this endless parade of elements that were _not_ fire. Fire understood him. Fire liked him. Fire made him feel great. It was cathartic. He knew there was a point to this—he knew he had the capacity for emotions other than livid, pissed or annoyed. He just... could not strum up an interest in them. They were not anger; they were not a call to action. They made him lazy. Sadness made him still and lethargic. Happiness made him complacent, made him lower his guard. Made him weak.

Who did he have to love now, anyway? What sense of pride could he have? Everyone he had ever known and loved—they were gone. He had saved his world simply to see it lost to something completely different. He had been trying to make a few happy memories—but there had only been a handful of days between the death of the Metal Head leader and this exact moment that he had the opportunity. He had gotten a single lunch with his friends, where Daxter had told a tall tale that Jak had found in poor taste—considering it covered the span of time that he had been _in jail._ The anxiety associated with that story out weighed the joy of being with friends. He let Merlin get to a safe distance and tried, once again, to think of one good memory that did not bring up something terrible. He could not. They were all tainted by guilt in some way. He had done a lot that he was not proud of. He had been made to sit back and watch and things happened that he had no control over. He was angry about that. He was not sad about anything. He was just angry.

He started to work the cord off his wrist. "You know what? I'm not even going to try. We're done here."

He tried to work the bracelet off, it did not budge. Had it _shrunk_ in the past minute? It did feel a little tighter. He tried to open the clasps. They were stuck. Jak looked at Merlin. He saw the hint of a mischievous and tricky smile around his eyes, hidden by his shaggy beard. He demanded, "What did you _do?_"

"Did you know there are even more fantastic spells? Black magic and white magic come from raw emotions—but there are other spells. Spells that can shrink a target. Make them grow, too. Suspend them in mid air. With knowledge and control, a superior wizard can make magic do what ever they like."

"So you did _this?"_ he pointed to the cord.

"Yes. And it will not _undo it_ until you preform the spells to my satisfaction."

Jak bit back a wave of blistering hot anger. If he was more in tune with is emotions, Merlin would not be treating him like this. He had to remember that. The old man just thought force and coercion were the only two things that made Jak do anything. And he was right. They were. Jak slumped angrily and steamed, Merlin smirked and stroked his beard, and somewhere, a child bemoaned the fact that they could not manage to build a snowman.

"I have an idea." his smile gained a new element, a shifty, crafty cunning and his hand slowed on his his beard, stopping to twirl the tapered end in satisfaction, "Come with me, lad."

He headed towards his house, and little spring to his steps. Jak did not want to put up with this. He did not want to pretend that he could feel anything other than blind anger for more than five seconds. He wanted to just walk off—what the hell would Merlin do to him anyway? Nothing worse than he had already experienced. What else was there to do? He thought about the stack of fliers that he had stashed there. He wanted to investigate the disappearances more—interview more citizens. He could always talk to Aerith—Aerith was always willing to trade information for information, and he could recognize that as a fair trade, and he was going to ignore the fact that she went straight to Leon with all he had told her. He was a little upset that she did, but it was his own fault. He had not told her _not_ to share what he had told her—he had just made the mistake of assuming she would not. He did not need to look at the action, simply the result. If Aerith told Leon, she would probably tell more people—soon the whole town would know and no one would need to tread on eggshells—and if they rallied to kick him out of town, at least he would know they had a reason.

Thinking about things rationally did not help.

He did not mind trading information for information, up to a point. There were just some things that should not be said in polite company, and Aerith was some of the politest company he had met so far. If he told her too much too soon, she would stop wanting to hear it, and she might stop their trade agreement. What did he have left to give that would interest her as much as the story behind Kairi and the other missing people interested him? Krew. Samos. He had not said a word about Samos yet. He had not said much about Keira, either, and considering how important he was to Jak, he had said surprisingly little about _Daxter._ She would want him to talk—he knew he had frozen up when Erol had worked his way into conversation. She would want him to talk about that. She could read people like a book, and she could see Erol was the knot that still needed working out.

And she was probably determined to work it out. She may outright refuse to tell him anything until she knew every detail about Erol.

Jak followed Merlin into the house, were he took out a single tome. Jak wondered why, "I can't read it."

"It's not a reading book." Merlin replied, he turned the front cover towards him. "It's a magic book."

There was a cartoonish looking bear in a red shirt on the cover, "It's meant for children."

There was a slight pause, "...Yes."

Jak was _so_ done with this bullshit. There was no place for a useless children's _storybook_ in this situation. He did not bother to say a word. He snatched up the file folder from where it had been set on the white table cloth and left the house. Merlin was clearly offended by this. He spluttered and ordered, "Now see here!" as Jak walked out the door. He made the familiar, short, trek to Leon's house, leaving angry boot-prints in the snow, and threw open the door to see, what a surprise! His gun was dismantled. Again.

Yuffie gave him a wide-eyed, trapped, stare, "Um—"

Jak huffed, "_Nevermind."_

He slammed the door. Yuffie yelped, but he barely heard it. He did not need his gun. There was no chance he would get ammunition for it, anyway. He had magic. He had thunder magic, at least. The right amount of voltage could start a fire, short out electrical security systems, and apparently kill heartless. Everything else was completely useless. He was an angry person. He should go back to Merlin and threaten him until he surrendered the Fire Element—but then Aerith might come back, catch him in the act, flutter her lashes and pout assertively at him until he felt bad and said he was sorry.

And she would be _right_ to do it.

He just did not want to _deal_ with it.

The Heartless were relatively few in the streets of town. The security system kept them at bay. He had wanted to head to the Market, that had been his plan, but Aerith and Leon met him near the wall. They stared at him for a little while, silent, and made a few assumptions, then made a few mistakes.

Aerith assumed he had been eavesdropping. "H-how much did you hear, Jak?"

Leon assumed he had a much different destination in mind. "What are you doing? You clearly haven't gotten a handle on ice magic—you should stay with Merlin before heading to Ansem's Lab."

There was a short pause.

No one had told him anything about a lab. They knew where that _clearly_ mad scientist had a lab? And _no one _thought to to tell him? Aerith cringed. Jak grinned. He could not help but kick the wumpi's nest. "Is... Is that this way? Isn't the bailey that way?"

Leon glanced at Aerith. She folded her arms and gave him a gentle glare that let him know he was in a world of trouble. He said nothing. Jak went beyond kicking. He started _curb stomping_ the damn thing. "So—Ansem's Lab is just past the bailey. That's what you're saying? Ansem's lab is up these stairs and past the bailey?"

Leon did not want him meddling. "The gate is locked."

Jak crossed his arms, tilted his head and grinned, "I've climbed my fair share of fences."

Aerith did not want him running off and hurting himself. "It's electric. It's tall. You could hurt yourself."

Jak held up his hand, pointed the the elements on the shrunken cord. "Got _plenty_ of options."

"You can't read his notes!"

Leon had a point there.

Jak wondered, once again, what price he was willing to pay for the information he was going to find. He glanced at Aerith. She held his gaze, her expression purely passive. At this point, the only thing keeping Jak from charging through them was personal space. The gap between them was small, but hardly impassable. She had her cards and she was holding them. She was going to go for Erol, he could tell that already. She was going to cut right to the quick, and he would have to pay double—he would need her to hash through what was worth a look and what was not. Each page for her would be an entire _book_ for him. He would either have to lie (he suspected that was not possible) or bite the bullet and share every terrible detail.

Damn this crippling dependence!

He bit the bullet, tilted his head down submissively, but did not take his eyes from hers. He knew he could still look harmless, sincere and that those blue eyes of his could get him quite a bit. He pretended to be reluctant, "I'll... tell you about _him_ if you help me."

She stepped back, abandoning the blockade and letting him go, "Be back before dinner."

Leon shouted, "Aerith!"

"No." she held up her hand after Jak and slipped past them, "Let him go. He needs this."

And they let him go. Jak looked back at them from the top of the stairs, Leon was miffed, Aerith was smiling. She gave him a small wave, urging him onwards. He narrowed his eyes, walked away slowly, not taking his eyes off of them until the last possible moment, ears trained for the slightest of whispers. He heard nothing. It was far too easy.

Jak felt bad for assuming Aerith was planning something.

But Aerith was planning something.

He had to be careful. He could not let her get away with it. He wanted to leave this place eventually—if there was a chance Daxter was alive, he needed to go find him. Eyes on the prize, he reminded himself, just get to a point where they'll let you leave—or kick you out. One or the other.

She was probably hoping he would get himself in danger, so she, Leon or Cloud, could swoop in a save him. Then she could whisk him back, swaddle him up and handcuff him to a mug of cocoa and deliver some sappy, cliché, saccharine lesson about love and friendship, tell him he needed to be more in tune with his sensitive, emotional side, and that the heartless would never be able to hurt him if he just whistled a happy tune. She would treat him like a child.

He was... Genuinely touched by that.

Jak stopped. He had reached the fence by this point, and he checked behind him for any sign of Aerith or her muscle. He tried to remember the last time someone had treated him like a child.

And the answer was himself. He had treated the kid like an actual kid—not some figurehead, some key to controlling the city. Then for the first time in a long time, he thought of his uncle. That man had not even been related to him, but he had still been nothing but kind to him. He was dead now. Jak could hardly remember his face. He died in the first of many metal head attacks. He probably died not even known what they _were. _That had to be terrible.

That just made him think about Sandover Village—the place that was gone now, all of the inhabitants brutally killed by an invading race of aliens while Jak was catapulted into the future to compete a futile, pointless, time loop that had been established with out his consent and solved nothing. He was had never been in control of his own destiny. He had always been a pawn in another player's game. Samos was the chess master. If Jak had never used the rift gate that had brought the metal heads to the planet, he never would have had to go to the future to defeat them. He never would have had to send himself back into the past.

None of it was possible with out him. If he had just... never been _born_ things would have been better.

He could not think like that. If he thought that too many times, he might actually _do_ it.

Gathering shells on Sentinel Beach.

The Sentinels were gone.

Looking for berries in the jungle with Daxter and Keira.

It was all gone.

He was getting glum now. He hoped Merlin was happy. He looked towards the control box on the opposite side of the fence. If he tried to cast an ice spell _now _it would probably work. He tried. He raised his hand slightly, focused on the control box and muttered to himself, "Freeze."

A pretty ice crystal formed. Jak felt the air lose all humidity and grow a little thin and cold as the remaining vapor in the air was sucked in to the crystal, which was not very big, less than a foot on all sides, perfectly symmetrical. The wires snapped, the metal buckled, the hinges broke and the door fell off, falling to the ground with a great clang, so frozen it became brittle and shattered. Jak touched the fence. It was no longer dangerous to touch. He hooked his fingers through he chain-link and stuffed the metal-tipped toe of his boot into the space. He started to climb. He made it to the top, swung his leg over, and climbed down, his boots touching the hard, rocky ground. He followed the pathway. It was old, worn and thick; unbroken slabs of blue stone, metal parts, grating, re-bar, and coils of industrial wire and cable. The trail was long, in a deep gorge. The ideal spot for an ambush. Jak checked the ledges above. No one was there.

He looked behind him. No Aerith.

There must have been more here, at one point. There had to have been. He looked back towards the city, and he did see the remnants of it—but just a little bit. Like some jerk had cut the pie and then left the the single slice. The rest of it was gone, sucked away by some unnamed disaster. Jak would have said it was an earthquake. The steep slopes and deep gorges, in the otherwise completely flat, smooth blue rock seemed to indicate nothing else—but there were no ruins scattered over them. He knew better, anyway. This was what happened to a world the heartless took. There were still so many pieces missing.

Jak, curious, touched the stone. It was cold, a very fine grain, soft to the touch, but unyielding to force. Was it all... _marble_? Or was it too dark for that? He thought about it. He had never really seen a marble quarry—the only marble he had ever encountered was shiny and lacquered to the point that he could not actually feel the stone itself, just the clear resin or slick enamel coating. It might have even been _fake_ marble.

He encountered a few heartless, but they were easily defeated by simply working up the courage to grab them by the neck and hurl them into the walls. He had a good throwing arm. It did not kill them, but it kept them out of his hair and stopped him from resorting to magic. Aerith was probably slowly creeping along behind him, waiting for him to waste all of his energy on spells that were _not_ as useful as fire.

That wonderful, caring, warm, compassionate _nightmare in pink._

He reached what must have been the lab—it looked more like a fortress. It must be _filled _with notes. Something that big, there might even be a computer. Maybe machines that had not been touched in ten years, they might even still work. He seemed to be going in a back or side entrance. He wondered what the round metal platform he was walking across was used for. Could have been astronomy. It did have a clear view of the sky, but it was too low for that. Considering there were exposed pipes around it, Jak doubted it was used for tea parties. He climbed over the ledge, dropped down into another walkway, and headed through the doorway.

He heard scratching in the wall, moving above his head. Probably just rats, not heartless. He was amazed there _could_ be rats and heartless in the same building. He walked on. The hallways took some getting used too. They were almost labyrinth like. He went around in a circle once. He heard the scratching again, directly over head, when he looked, he saw nothing, only a few cobwebs.

He took his frustrations out on a few heartless with a misfiring, poorly-executed thunder spell.

The scratching retreated quickly. Jak passed another part of hallway that was blocked off by rubble. He peered though the crack, saw an open door, he tried to shift it, but he would need tools to do that. A water pipe had fallen and wedged firmly in place. He could not shift it with out unscrewing it at the seam, and he had no tools for that. It was not meant for plumbing. It was too heavy for that, too thick. It was meant for cooling machinery. He had found some kind of diabolical lab alright. He tried to climb over it, either to slip inside or get a better view. He saw what looked like a child's bedroom before the rubble gave way under his boots and the ceiling crumbled, causing the hallway to collapse completely and Jak to fall flat on his back.

On the plus side, he could see the ceiling of the upper floor—he could probably climb up the debris.

But there had to be more on this level than a hallway. Maybe more bedrooms. He massaged his shoulder and kept walking. He came to an open space, another hallway. At the end of that hallway was a door.

And beyond that door was _pay dirt._

It was not a lab. It was an office, but there were book shelves covered with equipment (most of it was busted) and filled with hand-written notes and diagrams stuffed into binders, a few reference books. Not exactly the place where the diabolical human experiments happened. He could not read a word of it, but he knew what the disarray meant. Someone had been there, someone had wrecked the place trying to find or hide something. Jak hoped, what ever it was, they had not found it. There was slightly less-dusty streaks in the dust. The place had been left alone for a while, trashed, and then left alone again.

There was so much _here._

Where should he _start?_

Jak cleared a space off on the desk, but carefully. Even the items on it could be a clue. He set the papers in his hand down, they were unlikely to go anywhere now—he would just start a stack to take back to town. He was never one to sit down and study. Pouring over files, schematics, and maps was Torn's thing. He wondered how he would sort through everything. There was more information _here_ than _he_ could offer to Aerith. He had to choose wisely.

But were to start?

Schematics. Anything with a schematic or drawing was something that crossed out of theory and went into practice. Keira never did a schematic with out getting the theory down. Keira never did _theory_ with no research. Drawings were good. Blueprints were better. Actual machines would probably make his heart stop at this point, and as much as he needed to discover them, he needed to keep living—that was no place to start. He could only see handwriting on the spines, written card stock and slipped behind a plastic screen. They all seemed different.

He pulled out every binder that looked like it had distinctive handwriting. That meant Ansem the Wise probably had multiple people working on the same projects, and they clearly had their own lab books that could be distinguished by handwriting. They might have their own, separate laboratories, and this office was just a hub for information. Ansem would need to look over and study those lab books—if anyone was doing any experiments on a person, they would be in on record. Somewhere. Even unethical experiments had failures and those failures had to be documented. The book cases were low, he had to crawl on one hand a both knees awkwardly. He set the binders down on top. His hand stopped on one. The handwriting for the others were mostly orderly, they looked like they had been written by adults who knew what they were doing, in ink, names signed distinctively. Jak let his fingers brush down the spine. The paper slid between the plastic was written in a childish scrawl—Jak had seen the Kid write. There was no language barrier on a child's handwriting.


	9. Chapter 8

Taking Orders from Nobody

(disclaimed)

The Great FFN Crash of '15 is OVER.

* * *

Chapter eight:

Jak wondered if the painting was Ansem the Wise or someone else. It seemed unlikely. He had assumed Ansem was older, and that man, though white-haired, was clearly young. That, or he had paid some painter to make him appear young. Jak piled up the four binders on top of the missing person's flyers, and he scanned the lab one more time. He had not found anything else of eminent importance, he could not carry every single book in the office back to Aerith, things had to be left behind. He picked up the Child's binder again, scanned the pages, and wondered who he was, how had he gotten mixed up in all of this? Who in their right mind would do experiments on people and drag a child into it?

There had clearly been adult supervision. The handwriting was not all messy. An adult had written out a place for him to sign his name. An adult had made a few simple drawings for him to fill in and label. He had colored them in with crayon, trying very hard to stay inside the lines, turned the pages over and over again with sticky fingers. Some of the pages were just the same few sentences over and over, but the binder was thick, and Jak went further—the handwriting got marginally better. The drawings took a sharp nose dive—he was doing more for himself. Jak sat down in the chair, still looking through the pages. There might have been numbers in the margins noting the date. If only they made a little more sense to him, he might be able to make heads or tail of them.

Maybe—maybe there was nothing going on? Maybe Jak had been projecting and Ansem the Wise was not responsible for the heartless, or the disappearances. Who could be so terrible? None of the scientists that had stood over him while he had been strapped to the chair had participated in bring your kid to work day—and they set his standards for evil. Who would expose a child to this? The drawings, though crude, looked innocent enough. Jak felt a little twinge of paranoia, like he was being watched, his stomach started to turn in knots and the drawings to a little more... gory. Then they started to look a bit more like the heartless—but like no heartless he had ever seen before. Jak took a breath, he told himself, what ever had happened—what ever it was. It was in the past.

His fingers stopped on the corner of the paper. He felt a slowly creeping sense of dread—he was standing amid some very disturbed ghosts. He had to remind himself that it was out of his hands. There was nothing he could do about it except know that it had transpired.

He was staring at a drawing that looked uncomfortably like a Precursor Ring and a rift.

He did not want to look at the next page.

But he did.

It was... empty.

Jak moved through the pages quickly. Empty, empty, empty—all of them. It just ended there.

He looked at the next one. It ended on the same schematic. Jak looked at the images side-by-side. There were clearly meant to be the same thing—but this was the last thing there, too. What had happened? _What had happened!?_

His mind was tugged back to the boy's room. He had to get back to it. Would there be more personal things there? A journal? Photographs?

"I _have _to get back to that room!" Jak hissed to himself. He gathered up the four binders, stacked them neatly and put the loose pages on top of them. He wished he had a way to bind it all together—he did not. He did not want to leave them, either. He carried them with him, tucked under one arm as he headed towards the door. He was glad he had left it ajar, and needed only nudge it with his toe to open it. The hallway was still—until Jak's eyes caught movement by the wall. A blink, nothing more, a quick flash of orange.

His heart skipped a beat. "D-daxter!?"

He followed it, but he could not find it again. He made it as far as the little foyer, and the trail went cold. He saw nothing. He heard nothing.

"Dax, it's me, Jak!"

No reply.

Jak questioned his sanity. Had he... really seen him? If he had not—he would look like an idiot to an empty building. If he had, he would be the worst friend in history, the whole universe, if he walked away with out finding him. It had been a little less than a day, but he was obviously upset. He only hid when he was upset. Jak pleaded "Look, Dax, I'm sorry I took so long, if you're mad I can explain—but you've got to be starving."

He heard the scratching again. It sounded like claws scraping metal. Jak turned to a damaged spot on the wall. He saw a flash, like light reflecting off of a pair of eyes. He walked towards it, "No games, Dax—come on. I've met some people. They know what's going on better than we do—and you'd like Aerith. She's not exactly Tess but she's got a nice—" You know what? Aerith was too dignified a lady to be talked about like that, "Personality."

He peered into the darkness inside the wall. It smelled stale, like insulation foam and a little charred. "D-Daxter?"

Nothing. Not even a noise.

Jak took a step back, disappointed, "You know what? I'll just come back with food—how's that?"

Nothing.

Maybe... He had just imagined it?

Jak sighed, stepped away from the wall, and focused his attention back on the damaged hallway. There was that bedroom he needed to get to, the floor above him. There was a whole fortress to explore. Jak was deep in thought. He wondered what he might see. If the heartless could get from world to world—maybe Ansem had discovered a way, too? Maybe he could leave this world, go find Daxter, on his own after all. It had seemed impossible before, with no way to get from world to world of his own free will, but _now_ it seemed plausible.

"Who is... _Daxter?"_

Jak jumped, turned, and saw a _thing that was CLEARLY NOT DAXTER_ clinging to the wall.

"By the Precursors!" He jumped, took a few steps backwards, "You—Can you _talk!?"_

Quite well, it would seem. The creature scrambled down the wall, stopped a few feet before Jak, determined not to be too far away from anyone ever again, "Who is Daxter?"

Jak struggled to find the words for a while. What was this? Some voice-stealing heartless? It was mammalian, obviously, it had fur, large ears meant for a hot climate, a wet, black nose, so it would seem like a house pet, but it also had six arms and was wearing an orange jumpsuit.

He did not want this. Aerith might have sent him. He had things to do. He did not need to let another person in. He started to walk away, "Daxter was a good friend."

"Is." the creature followed him. "Is a good friend."

"No—no you don't understand, Daxter is gone."

"Dead?"

Jak... did not want to put it in that term. It was too final. Probably too true. "Lost. To the Darkness—you would not get it. Shoo."

"Ohana?"

Jak stopped, turned again. Now that the creature knew it had his attention, it reached out, tried to grab his leg, dig his claws into the top of his boot to climb up and sit on his shoulder. Jak stepped back, glared at him. He was offended at the very idea that _anyone_ would sit where Daxter should be sitting. He wanted to chase him away, but the forlorn, lonely look in its solid black eyes kept him there. His ears drooped, the fingers curled around nothing, then his arm fell, and he looked at the ground, sat down, obedient, like a trained pet. Jak felt terrible for treating him so harshly. He was just a little guy. A little smaller than Daxter. He knelt down.

"What?"

"Ohana means family." the creature said it like a mantra. Like he had said it to himself for years, and he longed to finally say to to someone, anyone, who would listen, but even now, it looked like he was talking to himself, eyes on the ground, posture withdrawn. Jak listened. "And family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten."

Jak was quite for a moment. Daxter—Daxter had admitted to forgetting about him, leaving him behind, in those two years, that was a fresh wound, one that still hurt. Daxter had left him—that what it felt like. Abandonment. Betrayal. It made Jak a little mad to think about it. He did not want to think about it—mostly because Daxter was the only person he had to talk too on most days and he could not start to hate him for not coming to rescue him, because he knew it was wrong to expect that he even _could_ do it. Daxter was such a little guy. What could a single Ostelle do against an entire fortress of Krimson Guards?

Besides—it was his fault he was an Ostelle in the first place.

And he _had_ come back for him. Even if it took a while—and Jak supposed families forgave, too.

"Yes." Jak replied, "If you put it like that, Daxter was family."

"Ohana means nothing to the darkness." He said. His eyes met Jak's again. He said nothing more—but Jak knew. He could see it. Maybe it was the animal in him connecting with the animal in... what ever the hell it was before him, but he knew it.

"How long?"

"Nine years."

Jak did not think he could last nine years with out seeing anyone he had used to know ever again. Still, nine years. He was in for a long story. He sat down, crossed his legs, and set the binders of notes and the missing person's fliers down on the floor on the opposite side of him. The creature glanced too them, then looked back up at his face. Jak tried to get a little lower to his eye level, tried to look a little more welcoming. He propped his chin on his hand, "Tell me your story."

"You know it." he replied, "You lived it."

Jak was stunned by the frankness of the comment. He leaned back, dropped his hand to his ankles and stared at him. It was hard to describe, or even fathom, the deep connection Jak felt with the blue fuzzball in that exact moment. He was not refusing to tell the tale—there was no bristly guard in the eyes, no resentment. His expression was completely honest, completely open.

"You...You were a lab rat, too?"

The creature did not answer directly. He did not answer indirectly, either. "More important things." he said, he turned around, took a few steps, and looked back at Jak, his eyes flickered, looked back at the binders beside his knee, then looked back to him. Jak picked them up. "Not like you can read them, either."

"Stitch can." he replied, "Did. No answers."

"What do you mean."

"Not to my questions. No answers."

"W-what are your questions?"

Stitch was not evasive, he simply refused to answer. He continued back down the hall with out a word. Jak stammered for a bit, then quickly followed, scrambling to his feet, binders and papers in hand. Stitch moved fast, so fast Jak actually lost sight of him, but there was no place to go aside from back to the office. Jak found him there, sitting in front of that mysterious portrait, just staring at it, unblinking, unmoving. Jak's boot crunched a bit of glass, and Stitch said blankly, "Not Terra."

Jak tilted his head, and rested his hand on his hip, clueless.

Stitch repeated, "Not Terra. Not Terra's eyes. Not Terra's hair. Stitch know. Stitch remember. This is Terra's face. Only his face."

"Who is Terra?"

Stitch looked at Jak, then remembered he had only just gotten there—he did not have any knowledge of Terra at all. So he explained, "Terra, Aqua, Ventus—friends. Ten years now—ten years. Helped Stitch escape, find Ohana..." he trailed off looked back up at the painting, and said nothing more but, "Not Terra."

Jak knew he was listening to the ramblings of a half-sane mind. He listened quietly because he had been there himself, once, when he had learned he could speak, and suddenly everything he had ever bottled up had gushed out of his mouth at once. He looked at the binders again, and the missing persons fliers, then back to Stitch, and suggested, "Maybe it's, you know, artistic license."

"Terra had blue eyes. Dark hair."

The man in the painting had white hair and gold eyes. That was not a difference that could be explained by artistic license. Jak scratched his head, and had to admit he did not have an answer for Stitch, either, he did not want to abruptly change the subject, because Stitch _clearly _needed to talk to someone, but he wanted to get his pet project—the investigation—back underway.

"Do you think, Stitch, that these books could answer my questions?"

"What questions?" Stitch did not remove his eyes from the portrait, and Jak wondered just how long he had been cooped up in this place with only a inaccurate portrait of his friend to look at. He did not want to ask just yet.

Jak crouched down and held the fliers out for Stitch to see, "Ten years ago, a lot of people went missing. There is a woman in the town, her name is Aerith. She thinks the man that worked here, Ansem the Wise, had nothing to do with it—I think he did."

"You know better."

"Maybe I don't?"

"No. Not there. Not in those. Approved experiments only in those."

"Damn." Jak muttered to himself, "Guess I was projecting."

"In private labs, though—there is more."

"Private labs?"

"Secret labs."

"Where?"

Stitch started to move, then he reconsidered, looked Jak square in the eye and demanded, "Help Stitch find Terra, Aqua, and Ventus."

"Your family?"

"No. Family is lost. Stitch need _them. _Those three. Need the Keyblade."

"Keyblade?"

"Great, powerful weapons, like giant keys. Can defeat Unversed, the Heartless, the Nobodies—anything not meant to be."

Jak thought back to when the Heartless swarmed the city—he thought about Tess, the weapon he had seen her carrying. He had thought it was an axe, had it been a key? How had she come to posses it, and not him? Everyone's similar dream, had that been a test to see who was deserving of the keyblade? Had Tess been the only one to pass it? Perhaps, if the world or the powers that be or what ever determined such things had not been so damned picky, Haven City might still be standing.

"Need it to restore the world."

Restore the world.

Aerith had said something about that. Jak thought back to their conversation. She had said the Hollow Bastion had been lost, as well as the home world of a boy named Sora. Both had come back. If Keyblades were required for that—clearly someone, somewhere had one, and they had gotten one before Tess had gotten hers. Perhaps it was Terra, Aqua, or Ventus? They could not have vanished completely in the last ten years, right? They just needed one—could it be Tess? Maybe she had survived?

If he had managed it _with out_ a keyblade, surely she had managed it _with_ one?

"How about we just find someone with a Keyblade?"

Stitch was satisfied, but said nothing in affirmation. He just moved again, lead Jak to the collapsed hallway. Jak's heart sank. That was where the secret labs were, too? It was completely blocked off! He looked up stairs, just a library there, maybe there would be a few research books, something Ansem the Wise had built his research on. So much for—

Stitch moved the rubble aside with no effort tugging out the long pipe like it was a toothpick. Jak took a step back, stunned, as the way was revealed again. With the removal of the long pipe, the rubble folded and crumbled down, low enough for them to climb over it with no trouble. Jak knew they were looking for the secret labs, but he saw the child's room and he could not help but head right for it. Stitch stopped, "Not there."

"I know. I know."

He kept searching it anyway. It looked normal, thank the Precursors, it looked normal, filled with bright colors and exciting things, a chair with star-shaped back, a matching dresser, a lamp with four fish that moved in a slow circle around it, and books, plenty of books. He opened every drawer he saw clothes, button up-shirts and dress trousers, the closet was filled with small, child-sized lab coats and there were a few lilac neckerchiefs.

Jak sure hoped this kid did not go to public school.

Because, damn, that was just asking to get bullied.

There was no secret lab book, no private journal that he could see, and that was reassuring. Maybe, just maybe, this kid had no idea what was going on. He closed the closet, and Stitch watched from the doorway, "What are you looking for?"

He checked one final drawer and exclaimed, "Photographs!"

Jak gathered them all up. Nestled in the loose pile was leather book, no title, closed by an elastic strap. A journal. Jak took it out, too, opened it, thumbed though it. Messy handwriting. Even if he knew how to read it he doubted he could make heads or tails of it. He tossed it on the pillow, and sat down on the dusty bed and flipped through the photos. There were plenty of people in this child's life. He knew their faces now, too. The little boy had silver eyes, light hair, it looked silvery blue in some pictures, it may just be the light. It covered one eye. There were two men in uniforms identical to the ones the child wore, one was identical to the man in the portrait—that is, 'not Terra'. Two more—three more that looked to be security guards.

And Kairi.

Just to make sure, Jak searched through the fliers again and a found hers. Stitch moved closer, climbing up onto the bed beside Jak. He showed him the two pictures, and despite what he suspected about these people, he grinned broadly, then explained, "Look—you're looking for Terra, Aqua, and Ventus, and I'll help you—but look, this girl is named Kairi. She went missing ten years ago, and she's the only one I know is still alive. If this place was ground zero, then Kairi was in deep—she probably knows more than Aerith does. Stitch—if we find this girl we could find out everything."

Then Jak stopped smiling. What if... there was an accident? That little girl's disappearance was an honest accident that this little boy had never manged to get over? Or what if—he had to watch while she was a victim of some experiment? What if he had not actually cared? What if _Kairi _had to go through life knowing a friend had watched her get sucked into oblivion with out batting an eye?

Stitch tilted his head, concerned, "What? What?"

Jak shook his head. That was ridiculous. No child could be that cold blooded. He was just projecting, concocting a dramatic story. He picked up the journal, tucked the photographs away in the child's binder. If he made assumptions now they would just stick to him and he would never be able to shake them. They would discolor every objective fact he learned. He did not need to jump to conclusions. Everything had to be decoded. Everything had to be learned. Patience was not his thing. Stepping back was not his thing.

But fortunately, he did not have to run to Aerith and spill his life's story to her for it. He had Stitch.

"Okay, the private labs."

Stitch lead him down the hallway. Jak followed, and hoped there was a spare cardboard some where, because he had way too many things to carry. The hallway led him to a locked door labeled with a plaque. Jak balanced the stuff and asked, "Who's lab was this?"

"Even." Stitch answered. Jak opened the door, looked around. It was not nearly as beat up as the office had been. It was orderly, neat—two tables with a few things on them, metal cages note pads and a scattered handful of pens, a smaller, child-sized table in the corner, a foot stool that might elevate a child up to adult height by one of them.

Nothing to rouse any suspicions. Nothing to make Jak think they were doing anything unethical. Small metal cages, a small vacuum chamber, lenses. A suspiciously large prism. A series of tubes with a strange, dried filmy substance in them that must have been some kind of fluid used for suspended animation or preservation. They were dried now, useless. On the opposite wall, far away from the door, there was a mirror, reflecting the lab right back, opening up the dim space but—there was something _else. _Jak hurried towards it, set the papers down on the table. He looked at it, moved alone it, running his fingers over the dusty surface, it made the image on the other side a bit more clear. The lab itself was dark, but on the other side—there was light. Just light enough to see though. Jak cupped his hands over his eyes—it was not a mirror, it was a window. The lab was a observation deck.

And they were observing that big ring that had brought all of the other journals to their abrupt end.

* * *

I blatantly based little Ienzo's room off of Roxas' room in Twilight Town—obviously, Ansem pulled the Data Town based on what he knew already. So, to make that a little easier and true-to-cannon I looked at a piece of concept art and noticed something was a little odd. Now, I could not put my finger on it, but I think it was THE GIANT ASS CHAIN IN THE CORNER.

Then I thought, "Ok, there is no way that's in the actual game, it's just too weird. That must just be in this art."

But no. It's in graphical renders, too.

It's in the cutscenes.

Why!?

I mean, I know _why,_ it's symbolic. Roxas is a prisoner, I get it. What I mean is why did Ansem the Wise-but-CLEARLY-not-Subtle think that was a good idea!? Did he just say to himself, "No. Roxas will never question why there is a giant-ass chain in the corner of his bedroom. This plan is fool proof."


	10. Chapter 9

Taking Orders from Nobody

(disclaimed)

I think this would be easier if I actually played days...

What is Days for? Is it for DS?

Either way—I think Daxter's plot will involve something with the absent silhouettes, because, spoiler alert, a portion of the members come back in 3D, so... maybe the absent bits are just waiting around for the heartless to be defeated or something?

I can't do anything too daring, because I'll have to bother to retcon it when KH III comes out, or even as we get more information about it, and the Kairi/Ienzo/Lea+Isa friendship angle, though justifiable, is fragile enough as is.

* * *

Chapter nine:

The Nobodies had a smell about them—a musty, stale smell, not like death, no, not like that. But a...an amalgamation of smells. Like clothes from a thrift shop—cigarette smoke and alcohol, bad takeout and fryer grease, sweat and oil, and every perfume and deodorant imaginable. A smell like that, and not their own. Axel smelled indistinguishable from Demyx, and Demyx smelled like Luxord, who smelled like Saix, who smelled like Xemnas. The fortress had a _smell_ about it. It filled the place, got him turned around every time, because he could not just follow one person, and the walls looked the same where ever he went, so as much as he hated it, he took up permanent residence on Axel's shoulder.

It was good for him. Axel got to coach him on how to act like a properly new-born Nobody. Brief sentences. Short-term memory loss. A quiet disposition, things Daxter would never be able to fake if he tried, so he brushed it off, said things like, 'Oh—maybe I'm just the exception.' and 'Must be different for everybody' when someone other than Axel suggested he was a little... out of place for a heartless nobody.

But, thank the Precursors, they made a small black suit of clothes for him, and the clothes did make the Ostelle. It was a good, sturdy fabric, something clearly magical he had never encountered before, it did not take damage easily. He even suspected it was fire-proof, how else could Axel still have sleeves? It was all very loose-fitting, not tight to the wrist like Axel's was, not tailored like anyone else's to show off perfectly sculpted pectorals and to make everyone else wonder, how could people with out hearts be so _vain? _He wore no gloves and no boots, no shirt underneath, just the coat, a pair of loose pants, and _soft underpants_. He had no idea how much he had missed them until now! They just, _lifted_! And _cradled_! And—

"Axel, Tarxed—"

_And he despised that name!_

Axel turned abruptly. Daxter nearly fell off. The Flurry of Dancing Flames was not used to having a passenger. "Yes?"

Daxter turned his attention towards Xemnas, elevated slightly above them in what Daxter called, affectionately, the board room, the circular room where all meetings took place. For a moment, he looked around. All eight members were gathered, himself, Axel, Xemnas and Demyx, and a four others, Luxord, a bleach-blonde fellow with a very sharp beard and even sharper cheekbones, then Xaldin, a big man with long black hair wrapped into dreadlocks, with the exception of his side burns, Saix, a quiet fellow with blue hair and gold eyes that kept giving either him or Axel the eye—it was hard to tell, and honestly Daxter did not want to know, then Xigbar, a loud man, little grey in his hair that came from age, not what ever freaky thing had happened to Xemnas, and an eye patch, which must have made aiming his guns a little easier.

"I'm giving you the Hollow Bastion mission."

For a man that supposedly had no feeling, Axel sure did _bristle_. No one else seemed to notice it but him, or maybe Saix, who was just _glaring_ at them. Daxter could feel Axel's shoulder clenching. He looked down. His right hand was in a fist. He straightened up, leaned back, tried to distance himself from Xemnas, from the very idea that he would have to go to that _Hollow Bastion. _He was so tense, "Fine."

He was not fine.

Everyone knew he was not fine.

Xemnas kept talking, "The heartless are weak in Hollow Bastion right now—the Nobodies we have sent are being eliminated more easily than before—but not by a Keyblade."

_Keyblade...?_ Daxter could not remember that word, though he was positive he had heard it before. That was right. Tess had used one. She had said something before ditching him to go play hero. He wondered, for a moment, if she had made it somewhere, too.

"I want you to find out why, get rid of it, it if you can."

No one else was meant to hear it, "Recon is _Xigbar's_ job."

Xemnas heard it, "I need Xigbar in Twilight Town, tracking down the one known as DiZ, and investigating a strong presence in that world. I need _you_ to train Tarxed. You did so well with Roxas."

Axel cringed, turned away quickly, as if Xemnas had slapped him in the face. He looked at an empty chair, and said quietly, "Fine."

It was a little more true this time, but only because Axel had been whipped into submission. Daxter was stunned. He knew a low blow when he heard one. He looked back at Xemnas and he saw the slightest of smirks dancing over his lips. That _had_ been a low blow. The _lowest_ of low blows. That was cold, calculated. Daxter felt, no _he knew,_ Xemnas had selected Axel for the Hollow Bastion mission to be cold, too. Roxas was just another rib to kick him in.

He looked at Axel—his expression was unreadable, but Daxter wanted to tell him not to take that kind of crap lying down. He hated riding around on the shoulder of the guy that got the shit missions, yes, but he had to focus on the more important thing; Axel was being _treated_ like shit, and Daxter could not stand that. Despite not having any feelings, Axel seemed like a perfectly nice fellow, completely amicable and he had been nothing but helpful. Daxter did not know if there was a punishment for bringing someone who was _not_ a Nobody into the Organization's stronghold, or introducing them into the ranks, but Axel could be putting what was left of his life at risk for him. And Xemnas had chose to make _him_ the Organization's punching bag? No wonder he was he needed someone in his corner.

Why?

He felt he could cut the tension with a knife. Axel went back to thinking about... _whatever_ he had been thinking about, but much, much more subdued this time, reflective. Luxord shuffled his cards nervously, Demyx played a subtle air sitar. Xemnas hounded Xaldin for a report, Xaldin coolly brushed him off and Daxter wondered how Xemnas ran such a tight ship if he could not care about anything—then he wondered why Siax was still glaring in Axel's direction. Eventually, Xemnas gave up on the report. How could Xaldin make it if he was being pestered, after all? The meeting was dismissed and everyone went their separate ways, dropping out of their high chairs and onto the floor.

That was another good thing about constantly being on Axel's shoulder. _He _could make the fatal drop. _He _could destroy his own ankles. Daxter would have none of it. Axel waited—Daxter shifted, felt the tense muscles under his paws and realized Axel had never _un-_bristled. He was still brooding.

Eventually, he huffed lightly, slapped his hands down on the arm rests, and dropped down to the floor. He said nothing to Daxter. Daxter said nothing to him. Axel was clearly waiting until he was sure no one was around. That did not take long. Jak, at best, measured about five eight, tops. Axel was easily six five—Daxter felt like he was riding around on a skyscraper. Axel was much taller than Jak would ever be, and he took long, impressive strides, boots falling against the floor lightly. He had very dainty steps for a tall man in combat boots.

He spoke. It was so quick, so unexpected, so quiet, that Daxter hardly registered it. "_Hate_ _Hollow Bastion_."

He fumbled, "What—wha. Wh—Why?" he quickly corrected himself, "_Can_ I ask why?"

Axel gave a heavy sigh through tight lips, and just took a few more long, lithe steps. Daxter waited patiently as he walked down the hallway to his room, because he had some packing up to do—he would need extra shirts or something, and Daxter supposed jumping into a corridor of darkness for some clean laundry was a waste of time. Then, he confessed, "When I said I only remembered liking frisbee—that was a lie. I'm sorry," he was not actually sorry, "But—information in a environment like this, it's on a need-to-know basis... And usually, no one _needs_ to know."

Daxter was glad he was so close to Axel's mouth. If he had been on the floor, he would hardly be able to hear him, he spoke so quietly. "I'm not going to say I'm your only friend here. I'm not. You don't have any friends here. You have people you make the mistake of trusting. That's it."

He was venting. Daxter let him vent. "Okay."

"I'm _from_ Hollow Bastion."

It settled in the air. That _would_ make going there a little off putting. What if he was recognized? What then? How long had be been a Nobody? Ten years—he had said ten years, right? That would have made him just a kid, if Nobodies aged. That was long enough for them to assume he was dead, but Axel might still have parents there. He might have friends. He could have been well-known when he was somebody. Daxter would peg him as the local hot-headed trouble maker—he did see a little bit of himself in Axel. A little bit of Jak, too, sometimes. Axel may not have his name anymore, or even his own smell, but he still had a distinct personality. He even had emotions. He could not see them for himself, but Daxter could.

"_Saix_ was from there, too._"_

Daxter kept quiet. That was some heavy shit, but Daxter sensed there was more. He had that 'there's more to this' look on his face. Jak used it all the time. But, when Jak used it it was unintentional and he really wanted to keep what ever it was under wraps. Daxter did not pester Axel. He deserved the same respect and patience Jak did.

"We used to be best friends."

Heavy shit just hit the fan.

"And can't help but feel like—I don't know. Just that I'm forgetting something. Something really important, but I just can't put my finger on it. It's like—I don't know."

"Maybe Saix remembers?"

"Saix doesn't remember."

Daxter could tell by his tone that Axel had never asked and he never wanted to ask. Daxter did not say anything about it. He would just play along, "Maybe it was family?"

"No—No I kind of remember them. Gosh, mom'll be steamed."

That was adorable. He was twenty five and he was worried about what his mother would think—maybe he had been a teenager before. Maybe Nobodies did age—how could they age with no heart? How could they even _be? _Right, right, that was _all part of the problem_. He'd been briefed.

"Friend, perhaps? It can't have just been you and the blue-haired glaremeister."

"I don't remember."

He answered too quickly. He had not even tried. Daxter wanted him to try. Maybe if he did, he would see he had a heart, somewhere in there. "So go, maybe you will. Maybe you'll be glad you did."

"I don't _want_ to remember."

He seemed pretty set on that. "Okay—so just don't go."

Axel might have coughed—he also might have laughed bitterly. It was too quick for Daxter to notice.

"Tarxed, look—" Axel called him that when he thought someone was listening, which was all the time, "They'll turn me, turn us, into Dusks if I don't. I'm on thin ice as it is."

"Oh... " Daxter had seen the Dusks. They looked like sock puppets—if socks had zippers. But the impression remained. Scary-ass sock puppets. Completely effaced. He had no idea where they came from originally. He figured stronger people became nobodies, but that did not explain how the model-weight Axel and the clearly hard-hitting Saix both became Nobodies. He supposed they meant 'of a strong will' and yeah, Axel had one hell of a will. So he had just sort of assumed that Dusks and Creepers had slightly less stronger wills.

But if Axel could be turned _into_ a Dusk...?

"Wait." Daxter gave his shoulder a little, ineffective, shake, "How many of those Dusks _had identities_!? I saw that room—there were thirteen members before—are the others all Dusks!? Is... Did _Roxas_ become a Dusk?"

"Wha—? Who told you about Rox—?" He remembered, "Oh, right."

"Why are you still _working for Xemnas if_—!?"

"No. Tarxed, they're gone. When a Nobody is destroyed—that's it. They aren't there anymore."

That... Did not help. Daxter jumped down at considerable risk to himself, Axel was not the perfect jumping-down height like Jak was. "I'm sorry. That's a shame. But it's good to know, no hearts, it's not like you can't miss them, right?"

There was a little flicker, a little spark of a frown on Axel's long face. He did miss them. He missed Roxas. Daxter wanted to ask. He stared up at Axel for a moment, Axel stared back, then the Nobody seemed to realize that Daxter was not going to say anymore, and he turned on his heel and walked down the long hallway of bedrooms. Daxter doubted any of them really slept. Dreams were matters of the heart—and the Nobodies had no hearts. Still—they may need to rest, close the eyes and let the mind relax. Daxter went into his own room, hopped up on the way too-large bed and packed a small case, a few pairs of trousers, his second coat, and more soft underpants than he could ever possibly need. To squirrel it all away, he cast the spell from the one element allotted him—Mini—and tucked it all away in a pocket. The charm that allowed him to cast the spell dangled on his wrist. His weapon was supposed to be there, too—but he had not been given one, yet.

When the organization had first been founded by Xemnas and the other higher-ups, there had been very few elements between them, and they had decided that it would make more sense to have a few specialized members, each given a magic that suited their personality, and given all the same elements rather than a few with all magics that would only fall back on one, so Axel had been given fire, Demyx water, and Xalidn wind. There had been other members, with other elements, clearly gone now—Daxter wondered where the elements had gotten too, if he could be given them, though he had to admit, with his personality he would be more suited to electricity, or perhaps earth, or maybe they had something that could turn him into a dark, terrifying eight-foot tall feral beast.

The matter of his weapon was a more difficult one.

He had not been told what to do in regards to that, and he wondered how Axel would manage to train him if he had nothing to fight with. He hoped, he really, really hoped, that it did not involve throwing him right into danger and then expecting it to magically spring forth from his ass in a blaze of glory. He really, REALLY hoped.

When he gently pushed on the cold... what ever it was his door was made out of. It kind of felt like a plastic, but with the density and weight of metal. It was certainly not wood. The door knob was a foot and a half above his head. He had to leave it open a tad and he could not reach it. He would not humiliate himself by jumping for it every time he needed to leave the room. He poked his head out, his ears straining and swiveling in place, trying to hear any shred of whispering, maybe catch the dope on why Axel was getting the short end of the stick.

"Number fifteen."

Daxter nearly jumped _fifteen feet_. He swallowed a scream, straightened up, and focused on the speaker. He had no idea how he had manged to sneak on him, but he had. It was Saix. He did not like, or trust, Saix—mostly because he never did seem to _stop glaring_. He was fine from across the room, but once he got with in two feet of Daxter it became very _not_ fine, and he gave him the shakes. Just, take the bad vibes Jak could give off on a particularly bad day, and increase it by some ludicrous number, but make him ten times better at hiding it—and you would know what it felt like to stand in front of Saix. Chilling was an under statement. He shrunk back nervously, then remembered that he was supposed to feel nothing, so he stepped forward, squared off against him, and said, "Fourteen."

"That's what I said. Number Fourteen."

That was not what he said.

Daxter let it go. He did not want to make Saix pissy if he could avoid it. He slouched back, folded his arms and waited. Clearly, Saix wanted something. Daxter got tired of waiting, "Need somethin'?"

"I need to caution you against trusting Axel too much."

"Oh?"

"I fear he may soon start to act on his own. Treason is taken very seriously in this Organization. If you have any doubts, express them to me."

He was asking Daxter to spy for him.

This place was more tangled than a cave-spider's web.

Daxter was not going to spy for him. That was out of the question. He was not about to let him know that, though. He knew how to play the game. He wondered if he would try to bargain with him, see if he could get him to spend the worse of his arsenal, or run a small smear campaign against Axel. He waited. Whatever he said, Daxter could take it. He had forgiven Jak for some pretty serious stuff. He reminded himself that Saix and Axel had once been friends, of Axel's own admission. He started to be a bit more interested—JUST how much could turning into a Nobody, living with out a heart for ten years, change a person?

"Axel has already killed two fellow members of the Organization—Vexen and Zexion."

Daxter did not flinch. He wanted too—but he did not. He clenched his paw onto a tiny fist. This was a plan. They wanted him out. Daxter burned inside. What was the point? They did not hate him. How could they with out hearts? But this was part of a plan. This was all one big planned thing against Axel. He probably had not even killed them, or he had been under orders. Were they _trying_ to hound him out? Why? "I'm game—what do you want to know?"

"Axel is notorious for shirking his work." Saix continued, "He goes somewhere all the time, Tarxed—I suspect it is Hollow Bastion, but I could be mistaken. I need you to tell me where."

Daxter waited for anything else. Nothing else came. Saix gave him a curt nod and left him standing there. Just that? This was a test. He could get in to a greater fold, but Axel was a rung in the latter.

"Sucks for you." Daxter grumbled, "Axel's my friend."

He gave the empty air the finger, knocked softly on Axel's door. He did not answer. Daxter looked up at the door knob, then down at the floor—the distance was about the same. He knelt down, saw no boots on the floor. He listened again, and heard, from down the hall, "If you wanted the Colosseum mission you should have said something."

Silence.

It was Demyx. Daxter did not want to miss a word. He crawled along the floor to press his ear against the gap at the bottom of the door. The silence continued. He heard pacing, a bed caving. Axel must have decided to trust Demyx, Daxter wondered if he though it was a mistake now, or if he would come to think it later, "I don't like going to Hollow Bastion."

"But you went just the other to meet Sora with out complaining."

"No, I didn't."

"...Oh?" There was silence, "Now that I think about it, you were... strangely quiet."

"So, will you trade?"

"No." Demyx sounded sympathetic, at least, "No, if you didn't go before, Xemnas might know. He's offering you the chance to redeem yourself."

"_Redeem myself!?"_

"I suggest you take it. I have to go. Hercules isn't going to turn himself into a heartless, okay?"

"It'll be you next."

"Axel, no one's doing anything to you."

"Like the others—"

"Axel, you can't say things like that." His voice was quick, pleading, a little, "You're freaking me out."

"No—I don't know. Something's going on. There's something he's not telling us."

Demyx's voice was like a door stop, a judge's gavel, a final beat of music, "I have to go."

"Watch your back."

Daxter slipped away from the door, he expected it to open, for Demyx to walk out and nearly step on him. He heard a doorway to darkness opening, and Demyx must have gone through it, because he heard Axel sigh, then he took a few steps, opened the door, and look around. He looked pale, a little scared, as if he had known someone had been listening in. He saw Daxter.

"You heard that?"

"Yes."

He looked relieved. Daxter considered telling him about his brief interaction with Saix. The sooner that was in the open, the better. But then he considered something else; that could make Axel leave. If he left, they would have a free pass to kill him. If he stayed, he would know they wanted him out, and maybe they would find out why. More importantly, he would be alive. He would not tell him. Not yet. It could wait.

Daxter took a step closer. Axel was too tall to jump to his shoulder. He had to wait for permission to come aboard. He did not get permission. Axel sighed again, ran a hand through his hair, looked at his gloved palm. His chakrams dangled from a chain on his wrist, dormant and tiny. "Well—"

Well nothing. What ever idea he had, he did not follow up on it. He opened a corridor into the darkness. It was just a swirling, beckoning hole of blackness. Axel stood still for a moment, clearly waiting for Daxter to go first, while Daxter considered just staying behind—he was not a Nobody, and so Xemnas would have a hilariously hard time turning him into a Dusk.

He broke the ice, "So—ah, you're going after all?"

Axel shook his head, "Going to do one thing first."

"What?"

"—normally I save it for after, but—"

He did not finish that sentence. He just walked through the darkness and disappeared. That was a clear attempt to pique Daxter's interest. It was working.

Daxter knew the coping process a little better than most. He had seen plenty of mechanisms. Jak had stashed plenty of tricks up his sleeves to distract and beguile him into forgetting about the important things, like what ever trauma he had suffered. And he had seen them all work. He had never been too sharp, but his Ostelle's mind made him forget. Out of sight, out of mind.

He also knew how to screw it up a little better than most. He knew letting Axel do what ever he pleased would accomplish nothing. Letting Jak do as he pleased had not accomplished much, either. Still, he followed him into the darkness and into the betwixit—the real mind bender. Being inside it make him want to hurl. He raced through to catch up with Axel, who was walking through the light at the other end.

This light lead them to the top of a clock tower over looking a sprawling, rosy city that looked perfect and at its most natural in the evening light, though now it was mid morning. He was worried, only for a moment, that Axel was going to throw himself off rather than face his past. He breathed in deeply, put his hands on his hips, like the air made him a new man, and then beamed down at Daxter. "Wait there."

He seemed exited now. He vanished again, came back two seconds later with two blue, frozen treats on sticks. Ice cream. He was a man of strange priorities and many mysteries. He sat down on the ledge and tried to tempt him closer with one. Daxter leaned forward, but he was wary of the edge. It smelled... suspiciously salty. Daxter narrowed his eyes, eyed it, eyed Axel, and he said, "Roxas loved it."

Daxter knew then that his interest was painfully obvious, and that this was where Axel played hookie to.

"You paid for this?"

They did not exactly get _paid,_ did they?

"Nah." Axel chuckled softly, "Roxas did. I just pop into the freezer and steal it."

Daxter sat down beside him, took one of the suspiciously salty treats from his hand, and gave it a little taste, "Ugh."

"Acquired taste, maybe?"

"That implies I'd want to acquire it!" he said. He took another taste. Salty and sweet. A terrible combination.

He took another taste.

An _interesting_ combination.

And another.

A palatable combination.

He stopped, tongue halfway to the ice cream, "Tell me about Roxas."

* * *

I want Axel's mission in the Hollow Bastion to throw him _right_ into the path of Kairi's Grandmother, who immediately recognizes him, invites him for lunch, and asks him if he's seen Kairi recently—but what if we find out in KH III she's dead!?


	11. Chapter 10

Taking Orders From Nobody

(Disclaimed)

OK, never mind plotlines will just randomly get two chapter because screw it I'm really feeling this one. Plus, I've got the flow of time to think about.

* * *

Chapter ten:

"I've got no illusions about you." Daxter said once Axel had explained all he needed to explain about Roxas. He had hardly touched his ice cream, it was starting to melt. He was completely aware of it, and held it so that the occasional drop found its way to the cobblestone plaza below them, not on his hands or his cloak. Axel did not particularly mind—he was so small he might get full easily, he might have a low salt tolerance. He had said at one point he had come from a hot climate. Maybe he just did not lose much salt with sweating?

_Did_ he sweat? He wanted to ask—but that might have been a little rude, so he asked instead, "What do you mean, Daxter?"

It felt great to use his name. It reminded him that he was talking to a real, whole person, with a real heart, and that no one else was around. They were completely safe.

"I know you're not the good guy."

"Ouch! Hey!" But it was kind of true. He was not the best person.

There was a long pause. Daxter fidgeted.

"I suppose, we should go now?"

Go where—? Oh. Right. Yeech. Hollow Bastion. "Don't remind me."

"Look—sometimes we've gotta do what we don't want to do."

Daxter wanted to go—that is, he wanted to see if he would remember anything. It was obvious. The fact was, Axel did remember. But it was foggy, like a half-remembered dream, scattered, with missing pieces and gaping holes and sometimes things in the present made things he had pushed back come up again, like flowers growing through cracks in old, weathered pavement. It all sort of bled together, too. His memory was so good, sometimes he remembered things that had could _never_ have happened. There were images in his head he could not fully explain to himself—at least he did not have to explain them to any one else.

He remembered fighting Roxas in a plaza in his hometown, for instance—but he knew for a fact Roxas had never once been there, not even on a mission, and that they had both been fifteen at the time, which was impossible, when he was fifteen Roxas had not been created. He was still safely inside Sora, but Axel had that memory with him and it hung around him like a fresh dream he could not rid himself of. If he went back, he might remember too much, something he could not stand knowing. He was comfortable remembering so little.

"I know. I know. I don't expect you to get it."

"No, I get it—I—" He had an idea, a kind of epiphany, "I forget. How much have I told you about Jak?"

"Not much." Axel replied, "You just said he was a buddy of yours."

"There was one place—the prison he was kept in, tortured for two years—he never wanted to go there again. Not for any reason, he said, never _ever_ again. And I was with him on that. Until we kind of... had to go back. We were ordered to go in there to get some people out. Jak really didn't owe them anything, too. My girl, our boss. He could have said no. But he didn't. I asked him why and he said he knew he was the best man for the job—he knew if anyone else when in there, they get caught, or they'd be killed. It—it wasn't pretty. He actually collapsed a couple of times and I couldn't get him to move. He was not crying or anything. He was just... frozen stiff. I did not know what to do. I had never seen him like that before. I never wanted him to see him like that again."

Axel did not like that. Something about being held in a cell. It just rubbed him wrong. Like a long, sharp fingernail dragging up his spine. He thought of Saix. He had no clue why.

"But after that, he seemed _free,_ kind of. Don't get me wrong. I never got the old Jak back. That place changed him and it won't be undone. The first time he walked out, he was physically freed, but the second time he was _emotionally_ free. It was kind of cathartic for him, I guess. I didn't ask."

Axel wanted to change the subject. He did not like to talk about emotions. It made him remember what he did not have, or it reminded him that there were bad emotions, too, that he did not want to get back, and sometimes that made him think, maybe I should not get a heart back? He did not want to be rude, "So, you got your girl back?"

It was weird to imagine the fluff ball with a girlfriend. He had said he had been human before. Was _she_ human? Did people actually... _go_ for that kind of stuff? Was it common where he came from? Or was she a... what ever he was? Did they get together before or after he was transformed? There was a host of questions, some were grossly inappropriate to ask. Daxter was teenager. He would not ask.

Daxter nodded and said, "Yes. We did. And you know—" but then he stopped, shook his head, and fell silent.

"What had he been in for?"

"What?"

"You said it was a prison."

"Oh that—" he trailed off, thought for a moment, then repeated, "Oh, _That._ Eh—let's put that under the 'need to know basis' clause."

So will the girlfriend, Axel told himself, and I will never, ever need to know; "Okay, that's fair—but the moment it becomes relevant, you be sure to tell me, okay?"

"Y-yeah, sure."

He was preoccupied. Axel knew what preoccupied looked like. He did not pressure him. His heart would eventually make him say what ever was on his mind. Hearts did that, they catapulted secrets out of the mouth while every other force tried to keep them quiet.

Daxter stood up, "I'm not going to finish this."

Axel sighed, maybe not now, but eventually, he would say it. "Well—" he snapped the popsicle stick in half, burned it in the palm of his hand. He drew himself up. There was not a trash can on top of the clock tower—no one was supposed to be up there. There were actually quite a few signs and fences tactfully reminding everyone that there was significant danger of falling. He looked down. No one was in the plaza.

"Go ahead and drop it."

He dropped it. Axel set it ablaze. The salt in the cream fizzled fantastically, and it burned so quickly it was nothing but ash and steam before it hit the ground. Then, he opened a pathway, thinking to himself, yet again, _please don't let this door open up to my old bedroom._

Which made him think about his house, which made him think about Isa.

_I wonder what became of everyone?_

He knelt down so that Daxter could climb his arm and stretch out over his shoulders, then he walked through the portal. It did not lead to his old bedroom. It head to a stone plaza that might, at one point, been a a fountain, but now the water was just a trickle, a few puddles in the stone, the walls covered with slippery moss and a few ferns that had somehow managed to anchor themselves in the cracks in the mortar.

"Well..." Axel scratched his head, "Here it is."

"You recognize this place?"

He was persistent.

"Sorta?" Axel planted his wrist on his hip and looked around. He could feel Daxter shift, stand on his shoulder and look around too, weave a tiny hand though his hair for balance while his tail swept across his back. It was very distracting. "We're near the south entrance—No, maybe west. Ansem's main gate is near here. And there's a garden somewhere. With a fountain... This is weird."

"What?"

"I thought this part of town was still lost."

"Lost?"

He forgot Daxter had next to no idea what he was talking about; he might as well explain. "Ten years ago, when this place was called Radiant Garden, it was one of the worlds lost to the darkness, about the same time Isa and I became a Nobodies. Over the next ten years, little pieces of it came back, bit by bit, just enough to make an incomplete place, a pit stop, really—As long as are all the same, it will find a way to match... Like a puzzle that's been put together wrong. Sometimes, though, pieces of different worlds find each other and they don't mesh. They bleed together and you get something that doesn't make a lot of sense. The bonds are weak and so pieces break off. You can fall asleep in those worlds and you can wake up just drifting in the nothingness on a spit of land."

Daxter's fur was visibly standing. Fear made him fluffy.

"If you're up high you can see it a little better. I'll show you."

Axel walked to the mostly dry fountain. He remembered it more clearly that he would have liked. He and Saix lurked here on their down time, back when they were Isa and Lea and cutting class, Isa because he knew it all already and Lea because Isa explained it so much better. He was working very hard to make his gait a little smoother for Daxter. The little guy shifted on his shoulders spine and body moving, head completely level, eyes focused, sweeping the landscape. Jak must feel so vulnerable with out him. He was great at keeping his head level as he walked, but Axel had a pretty distinctive swagger.

"Going up."

Daxter braced himself, sliding down his narrow shoulder and sitting in his hood like a pouch. It nearly chocked him. He jumped up, black gloved hands grabbing hold of a ledge, his boot slipping on the smooth tile before finding a little traction and letting him climb up. Axel climbed for until he simply ran out of things to climb. The town just... _ended_ and he stopped, looked down to the ground twenty feet below, a blue chasm with a few residual pipes and pieces of foundations, wide gap, about a mile long, and a moat of heartless, a few more dotting the stone, and another slice of town. Daxter's claws left his shoulder.

Axel pulled himself up, sat on the thin ledge and looked back. The fountain he had climbed up, a little bit beyond, a few houses, half of a plaza, it was just a piece of crust, a crumb, in the middle of no where.

If anyone managed to emerge from the darkness here—they would not last very long.

Daxter marveled. "Woah."

Axel watched him. He crawled out of his hood, slid down his sleeve, stood on the edge, "There are people over there?"

"Yeah. Locals."

"Do you know them?"

He was _really_ determined to chip away at it. Axel did not really mind, "I can't recall. We'll be lurking around them soon enough. I'll let you know if I see anyone."

He he did not know—maybe he did? Isa was the only person he remembered. He had parents. He remembered them pretty clearly. Not any siblings that he could recall, though. There had been a grandmother, too—not his, but someone's. Probably Isa's. Definitely Isa's—there were plenty of other people, too, that had just sort of been there.

"That's the main part of town over there." Axel pointed. It was much larger than their little bit of crust. A large swathe of land, about a mile wide at its thickest, a mile long. "I was aiming for that."

"Weird that we wound up here." Daxter said. He sat down, leaned back on his hands, "You want to try again?"

Axel thought to himself that there must be a reason. He had not been thinking about the fountain. He had been thinking of his old bedroom. That had made him think about the house, which made him think of Isa, which, for just a moment, made him think of Isa's grandmother, barely a blip on the radar. Hardly worth mentioning—was she Isa's grandmother? Yes, of course she was. His grandmother was dead. He remembered attending her funeral. He had been about seven, and he did not really take it well. Still, the more he told himself, _Isa's grandmother_ the more it just... did not seem to fit. Maybe it was because he and Saix had just started staring at each other from opposite ends of a huge rift these days, so that kindly old woman just seemed like the polar opposite of Isa.

Why were they so mad at each other, again? Well, not mad, just not talking like they used to.

Axel scratched his head—that was something he really could not recall. Was it because Saix blamed him for everything? No—no he said he never had. They just... grew apart. No reason for him to get the silent treatment.

He did not want to share any of that with Daxter. "Opening the paths is draining."

"I don't want to _walk_ that."

"I'd be walking it." Axel corrected. He did not want to walk it, either, "Five minutes—then we'll go."

So they sat in silence again. Daxter spoke quickly this time, so he did not start of fidget awkwardly again and spill whatever secret he was holding on too, "So—how exactly am I supposed to be doing any fighting with out a weapon?"

"Oh." Axel had not given it much though. Now he did. He worried briefly, then he was struck with a strange feeling of deja vu, and he felt reassured. Like he had thought of something before, already, in a similar situation, "Well, the Organization had a moogle and one point, but he left. Don't know why. I think Xigbar pissed him off him or something."

Honestly he had no idea—He thought to himself the past year was strangely foggy, considering how recent it had been, but that seemed like something Xigbar would do.

"We'll see what we can scrape together and get something synthesized for you."

"But what?"

Good question. Daxter was a little small for fighting. Maybe they would get him something huge, like a tank, or a giant robot, though that was beyond a Moogle's skill. Axel shrugged, he reached into a pocket, "Let's see what we've got to work with." He pulled out a little black drawstring pouch, opened it up. It was bigger on the inside. A handful of dark shards, a few bright shards, some twilight shards, a mythril gem, and a dense stone. A lucid crystal, an energy crystal, too. That would be useful—some orichalcum would be better—he did not want to go out looking for something that rare—but they would not be making much with out it, "We'll think of something."

Axel took him back down. For old times' sake—really, because he was an idiot—he left the fountain to take a stroll. He did not want to run into anyone anyone. That would be awkward, they might recognize him, and he knew not long after he left, they would just get taken by the Heartless again—or maybe they already had. No one seemed to be around.

"Kind of creepy." Daxter muttered.

"Yeah."

"Lea? Is that you, Lea?"

Oh, the day of reckoning, she has _dawned._

Axel cringed, stopped in his tracks. There was no point in trying to not be recognized—it was too late. There was a lot of point in opening a corridor beneath his feet and letting the ground swallow him up, which was what he desperately, desperately wanted. But, at the same time, he desperately, desperately wanted to be found again, too.

"You wait _right there, _Lea."

Axel looked around, he heard shutters slamming shut and he followed the noise to a second story window, the shutters were painted a rosy pink, the house was red brick, quite the contrast to the blue streets and blue landscape. Daxter took full advantage of the moment and dropped down, sliding down his arm like a fireman's pole, before racing to the nearest bush and diving inside. Axel crossed his arms, "_You!"_

A little orange hand popped out of the green and gave him a thumbs up, then vanished quickly.

"Lea!"

Axel turned towards the front door of the house and put on the biggest fake smile he could, and tried to recall a name, but he just managed a huge, clearly insincere, "Heeeey."

It looked like a little country cottage crammed into the suburbs. The door opened and a short old woman stood there. She smiled, lifted her hand a little to wave, and Axel though to himself, _gosh, osteoporosis hit her hard _but then he remembered that he had gotten so much taller in ten years. Her thick gray hair was pulled back into a bun. She was wearing a purple dress, with a brown stole tied around her neck. She looked exactly like she had when he last saw her.

Ten years—there were so many things he could say. What should be the first? Something funny? It was only a matter of seconds before she got upset with him. He should diffuse the tension early. Or, maybe something that could be seen as genuine? How would she react to that? Would she still get mad. He did not want her to get mad. He had never seen her mad before and he did not want to see it now.

"Lea, you certainly have shot up like a beanstalk! Didn't I just see you last week? You look so much older!"

If he had a heart, he would be shocked. She was fresh out of the darkness—not a single day had passed for her. He had not foreseen this. What to say? What to say? "Uuuuuh..."

She had plenty to say. "I haven't seen Kairi in a while—I was just about to head out to look for her. Have you seen her around?"

"K-Kairi?"

Namine's somebody, Kairi? Sora's friend, Kairi? Princess of Heart Kairi? _That_ Kairi?

It could not be that Kairi. No way it was. _That_ Kairi was from Destiny Islands, not Radiant Garden.

Right?

If deer in headlights could speak—they would be stammering like him. _Kairi... Kairi..._ His mind started racing, and some unseen force was jerking on the emergency stop frantically, slamming on the breaks and screaming. He tried searching his mind of any pre-Nobody memories of Kairi. He remembered the old woman, of course, but she wasn't _his_ grandmother and he did remember that, too. She was Isa's grandmother, right? Who else was there? Just Isa. Not Kairi. Kairi had never been to Radiant Garden. Had... had that been wrong? Was Isa related to Kairi? No—no that would have come up immediately. Isa did not have siblings. He had not had siblings.

"Uh... Uh... I—"

She stopped smiling, "Wait a moment, dear, didn't I hear you had gone missing?"

"Oh, well, I—"

"Yes, just two days ago. You had gone missing. You and Isa both. Your mother will be so pleased to hear you're back." she started walking, "Why don't we go tell her, then?"

She could not travel very far with out seeing the heartless—Axel did not want that. He had to stop her, "Wait a minute, uh—" He was drawing a blank, what had he called her? "Uh—" Shit, what had they called her? He could not sound too uncertain about it, what ever it was; _pick something endearing and say it, damn you. _"Nana."

She turned slowly.

"We should—there's a lot of things you need to know."

She stopped, "What are you talking about, Lea?"

Axel realized he was hunching over, trying to trick them both into thinking he was still fifteen. He straightened up. Her eyes followed him. He cleared his throat, fidgeted with his sleeves, smoothed out his coat. He need to tread on eggshells. To be told that ten years had passed in what, to _her_ was the blink of an eye, it was the shock of a lifetime, but surely she could have just guessed it on her own? He was so tall now, _clearly_ older.

He saw Daxter peeking out of the bushes, "Let's head back inside."

She was confused, but complied, probably because she was starting to realize something was up. "Okay, dear, I'll make lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

He never really was.

"But you're so skinny!"

He was going on ignore that. Black was very slimming.

He opened the door for her, nearly hit his head on the frame, and ducked into her mud room. He glanced down. In his memories, the floor was so much closer. He felt a little vertigo. A small girl's sandals were on the floor, some kid's red sneakers. His? Maybe, but he could not remember how they had gotten there. It looked exactly like it had, or must have had, the day it all vanished. He had... gone missing a few days before the rest of the town had, "What would you like, Lea?"

"Nothing, Nana, I'm not hungry." She had it in her head that she needed to feed him, like anyone would feel guilty and morally obligated to feed a lost, starving mutt. He physically blocked off the kitchen. "You need to sit down."

She looked concerned, but she did as he said, sat down in her rocker by the window. Axel sat down in a chair opposite her and just stared for a while, soaking up every wrinkle in her face and wondering what someone with a heart would be feeling. How they would be acting. She shifted uncomfortably. Axel laced his fingers and pressed them against his lips, resting his elbows on his knees, perfectly still, until he said, "It's been ten years."

He envied the look of disbelief, the near laugh that took over her old face, "It's been a few days."

"Ten years." Axel repeated. He did not break eye contact. That is what people did when they were telling the truth, right? Make eye contact. He lowered his hands, steepled his fingers between his knees. "You've been... Let's say it was asleep."

The pieces clicked in to place all at once and there was horror as she remembered. Maybe she even remembered what happened to Kairi. She placed a hand on her chest, and Axel wondered if she would just keel over right there. She went white. She began to shake, "Kairi!"

_Kairi._ His eyes flicked around the room. He was looking for a photograph. There were a precious few on a wall. Axel had been given precious little information about her. No one in the Organization really _needed _to know anything about her, and he had not been very curious before this moment. He knew she, that is, Princess of Heart Kairi, was on Destiny Islands. That was it. He hardly even knew how to get to them. He knew she looked a little like Namine—just red-headed. Namine's face was not one he would forget anytime soon. He stood up, crossed the room in two strides and looked at the photographs on the wall covered in a nauseating yellow-and-lilac paper. There was a red-haired girl that looked a little like Namine sitting with Isa on a low stone ledge—part of the square that had been near by, once, when Radiant Garden was whole. So... she _was_ the same one? Axel folded his hands behind his back, and thought for a moment of how to explain it. He rolled his fingers.

Too tedious, "... Is safe. You do not need to worry about her."

She was going to worry. She was going to worry as loud as possible. "Where? Do you know?"

"Yes." But he did not remember her. There was nothing—not even a Kairi-shaped blank space.

But she looked the right age. She was fifteen now—ten years ago she would have been five, maybe six. She looked around that age. He looked at another photograph. He and Kairi were walking away, towards a school yard. He squinted at it, as if to ask it _how dare you exist? How dare you prove me wrong?_

"Can you bring her here...?"

"That—" was hard to explain, "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

Suddenly, he did not want to explain anything at all. He turned around so quickly she jumped, and he saw an orange and black blur outside the window. Daxter had been spying. Fine. Let him spy.

Fake smile again. He clapped his hands together, rubbed the palms, anything to look casual, "We need to get you to a better place—safer. Hollo—sorry. Radiant Garden is coming back in pieces. There is a bigger piece not far from here. It is better defen—" he did not want to frighten her, "You will be happier there."

How was a more difficult question to answer. She would never be able to travel on foot. Even with the stamina, the terrain was difficult and swamped with heartless which he could night fight off while he carried her. Taking her though a corridor of darkness was out of the question. She would never survive. Now that he had said he he could not just ditch her. Daxter would never let him hear the end of it, and he was heartless, not evil. What to do—what to do? He put his hand on his hip, held his chin.

Fire. Build a fire and get _them_ to come to _her._ Fire was the answer to everything. The light would keep the heartless away, a big enough blaze could be seen for miles, if the water worked, he could get it to burn low and smoke. He looked at the coffee table, a worthy sacrifice. It was old, been in the family for years. It was not some cheap thing. Good, hard wood, but with a thick lacquer. The old style, not anything synthetic like some worlds had—it would not burn easily, but it would burn clean. No fumes, just fuss. He needed something unfinished, raw. Cheap. Something she would not miss.

"Nana—why don't you get some things together?"

"Yes, alright." she made her slow way up stairs. Axel followed quietly, stopped at the landing, and sprung into action as soon as she vanished. He raced to the door, threw it open.

Daxter wasted no time rushing to him leaning forward, perched on the terracotta window garden and demanding,"Remember anything?"

"I remember you're a jerk."

Daxter laughed, almost manically. He jumped from the window garden onto his shoulder, straightened up and planted his elbow on the top of his head, "That was _your_ moment. You didn't need me butting in."

Jerk with a point. Still a jerk.

Axel went to the house across the street. The door was locked. He jiggled it uselessly while Daxter refused to shut up. "So, who's Kairi? Is she pretty?"

Axel felt an uncontrollable burning. Was this was rage felt like? It seemed so familiar. Had he felt it before? He frowned up at him, twisting his head quickly so Daxter nearly fell off and had to cling to his hair. He felt like chewing him out, but there were more important things that demanded his energy. A signal fire was not going to build itself, so he just grumbled, "I am twenty five and I am not having this conversation with a ferret."

Daxter was all play. He climbed on top of his hair and curled up on his head. "Ottsel." he corrected. Noted. "And don't act like you don't know Kairi. When she said 'Kairi' you said 'Kairi' like the name meant something to you."

"I don't remember Kairi."

"But you remember the old woman?"

"Sure I do."

"Just not Kairi?"

"Nope."

"So, you just knew the name?"

"Everyone knows Kairi—"

"_I don't know Kairi!_"

"Everyone who's been around Kingdom Hearts or the Door to Darkness knows _about_ Kairi. She's—she's pretty crucial to it. She's one of seven. One of the Princess of Heart. Got it memorized?"

"Do I need to know about that?"

Axel was not really listening. He was focused on jiggling a locked door uselessly, "But there are _seven_ and I've never met any one of them in person that I can remember. I certainly don't know Kairi—I mean I've sort of met Kairi. I've met her Nobody. I was sort of her Nobody's jailer and _that_ wasn't a fun time for me at all. She really gave me this weird feeling and—"

Axel shattered the widow with his elbow. The impact would leave a bruise but it got him into the neighbor's house. He extended his arm, "Get the door for me, will you?"

Daxter got the door. Axel kept explaining, "Go back to Sora."

"Sure." The door swung open and Axel picked Daxter up again and set him on his shoulder.

"Sora has this friend named Kairi."

"Right."

"Kairi was one of the seven Princess of Heart that were required to open the door to Darkness, supposedly where Kingdom Hearts was (it wasn't) so, our Boss's Heartless, who called himself Ansem arranged to have all seven of them kidnapped and brought together so he could pull it off."

Daxter jumped off his shoulder and headed into the kitchen, "See if the water works!" Axel called after him.

He carried an end table to the middle of the street and threw it down so it would break in to pieces that would burn a little easier. Daxter came back. His coat was wet. The water worked. "Sora wasn't too happy about his best friend getting snatched up, so he went after them, and, uh, somewhere in there Kairi put her heart inside Sora's so she lost her heart. I'm fuzzy on the details. She did not become a heartless, and a nobody was born named Namine, and _somewhere_ in there Ansem possessed his _other_ best friend, Riku, Xemnas found out that Sora and the Keyblade wielders were the key to making Kingdom Hearts and we've all been trying to get them on our side ever sense."

Daxter did his part and dropped five wooden spoons on top of it, then hunched on his shoulder again.

"And skip to the part where you jailed this Namine."

"Right. So, I had a mission in Castle Oblivion—keep an eye on Namine, who was manipulating Sora's memories so he'd work alongside Roxas to gather hearts for Kingdom Hearts, (Marluxia had other plans) and I did that job. I did a great job—but something kept eating at me. Every time I looked at her it was just—_something."_

"Because you knew Kairi."

"But I don't remember knowing Kairi."

Although, at this point, it looked to Axel—probably to Daxter, too—that he was trying very hard not to remember knowing Kairi.

* * *

And that's where we leave them because Jak will keep going with Nana.


	12. Chapter 11

Taking Orders from Nobody

(disclaimed.)

Tess's Plot: _Where is my Whiskerpus and why there is a Corridor of Darkness in the Freezer? Who is this old man and why does he have no irises? Who's will is lingering in this armor and WHO HURT IT SO BAD?_

* * *

Chapter eleven:

Tess woke up much later than she had meant to. There was a note on the bedside table and—oh my she was in the bed! She pushed herself up on her elbows. Well, she was dressed. Her shoes were off, though. She kicked the sheets off, pulled on her socks and boots and went into the washroom, which was clean only because Setzer permitted no clutter. He practically had tape marking out the proper place for everything. She washed her hands and face, and used his strong mouthwash—it was the best she could do with out a toothbrush, and she did not think Setzer would take kindly to her using his. _She _did not like the idea of using his. She straightened her clothes, wished she had clean underpants, and raked her fingers though her hair. She could still feel Cloverleaf's presence above her palm. She flexed her hand, nothing happened.

She opened the bedroom door, no one was there. She sat down on the couch and flipped through the channels. There were only three. Tess smiled. Her grand-pappy had talked about the good old days, when there were two channels—channel one, and the channel that said "go back to channel one." This one had local news, an endless parade of daytime soaps, and cartoons. Tess figured she had better watch the news—clearly they would report on something as important as Heartless.

All they reported on was some ice cream parlor that had promised a winning ice cream bar a year ago, and now, a week after the second summer break, no winner had shown, no one had stepped forward to decline a prize, either. They might be investigated for fraud, but there was nothing certain yet. It was hardly something for a Keyblade wielder to fuss over. She wondered about breakfast. She got up during a commercial break, an ad for a local store filmed on a low-definition camera.

"This place is cute." she muttered to herself as she poured milk over her cereal. Like everything else in Setzer's house, it was boring, stored in a plastic container. Everything was in re-usable plastic containers.

She took a bite.

"Why are you still here?"

Tess, savior of all and wielder of formidable Cloverleaf, vanquisher of Heartless, was nearly slain by a spoon. She spluttered, swallowed her bland cereal whole, and asked, "Was I... Supposed to leave?"

The door swung closed behind Setzer, he juggled a few paper bags of groceries and pointed, "The note said to go shopping for new clothes. The munny was right there."

Tess looked at the kitchen island—there was some currency, a few blue-and-yellow bills.

"I can't read it." she replied.

"But you can speak it?"

"Yes."

He did not believe her. He dropped the groceries down with a heavy thud so he could fold his arms and frown, "Go shopping. I have some phone calls to make. Personal calls."

"Yes, fine, but can I finish my breakfast?"

"That's lunch. It's noon."

"It's cereal." Tess replied. "It's breakfast."

What ever it was, breakfast or lunch, he did let her finish it before shooing her out, deciding that one thousand munnies was not nearly enough and dropping another five hundred on her. She wondered if he would just dump his entire wallet on her, and she wondered why he was being so charitable. Perhaps she could spend some it on a hotel, rather than remain with him.

"Don't give me that look. I'm not a freak. Cover your midriff."

He closed the door.

Hardly kind parting words.

Still, Tess was free to never return. She might not. She stuffed the cash in her pocket and hit the town. Setzer was right—she did need new clothes. All of hers were in Haven City and she was not likely to return there soon, but there were other things she was concerned with, like where to find a job. That was very important, and where her friends were, how to restore Haven City, things like that. Heroic things. She wandered around, scratched her head, and wandered while scratching her head—where _could_ she buy clothes?

She went past Setzer's bar, down the road she had taken before, there were surprisingly few people out. She supposed, in such an idealistic place, unemployment was completely unheard of and everyone was perfectly suited to a hobby that kept them from committing any crimes or beating anyone senseless in the streets. It was probably a week day, and everyone in town could afford to send their kids to school (such a thing was an incredible luxury in Haven City—Tess had certainly never gone) or perhaps it was Saturday and every one was at the movie theater, enjoying a soda at the local diner, or getting ready for a sock-hop in the high school gym.

She walked around the empty sandlot, she did not want to get sand in her boots, and decided it would be best to take a completely different route, go down a different road. She heard a murmur from an alleyway, a boy's voice said, "Come on, Pence—it's _your turn."_

"No, Hayner." Pence sounded completely sure, "It's yours."

"Ugh."

Tess stopped, looked towards the source of the noise. It was a little dead end under the rail way covered with a tattered sheet.

"I don't wanna take Olette shopping."

"I don't want to go _alone!_ Why can't you both come?_"_

Tess saw her opportunity and she took it. She did not think too hard about it. She bolted down the alleyway, pulled back the curtain, and exclaimed, "I'll go!"

"AH!"

"Who even—?!"

"Okay!"

Olette was brunette, half of her hair in a long layer, the other half in several short ones. She was dressed for sport, sneakers, khaki capris, and she matched the orange, sunny brick the town was made of, in an orange tank top with white flowers silk-screened on. She grabbed Tess' hand and pulled her out again, nearly skipping.

Making friends was so easy in this town!

Tess had grown up with five brothers—and she had guy friends all her life. Daxter was the first fellow to not see her as "one of the guys" and maybe that was because he hit on everything that moved. Ashelin was too uptight, to old, to be considered a true-blue girlfriend in any sense of the word. The closet Tess had ever come to a girlfriend was Keira—and Keira was not one to take trivial trips to the mall on the brink of an invasion, or in the middle of the rebellion. So, no, Tess had never actually had a girlfriend, someone to shop with, get her hair permed, anything.

But now, she might. "I'm Tess."

"I'm Olette!" she answered, "I could hardly believe it when Seifer said it—but he wasn't kidding! Why are your ears so long?"

The two fellows that had refused to accompany her were clearly eager to follow them _now. _The blond boy exclaimed, "Olette, you can't just _ask people_—"

"Why are your ears so _small?_" Tess replied.

Olette giggled, "I don't know! Tell me everything about where you came from, _please._"

"Now hold on—"

"Go away, you don't even want to be here."

"We do _now_!"

"We're just as curious as you are!"

Tess laughed, "Fine, fine, I'll tell you all—Listen, it all started the night before, really, not the morning of. I had a strange dream. I was standing on a pillar of stained glass—an image of Daxter—that's my little shnookums—and the dream told me to look inside my heart to find a great power capable of protecting my world, so look—"

She summoned Cloverleaf into her hand. They jumped, Olette made a little noise of awe.

"It's called a Keyblade—"

"We know. We've seen one before."

"A guy named Sora had one." The dark-haired boy, Pence, told her, "He was just here a few days ago."

"Last week." Hayner corrected him.

"That long?"

"School's been in session that long."

"Our summer homework's been late that long!"

"And you want to go shopping."

Olette gave Tess's arm a little shake, "Hellooooo summer homework!"

At the mention of homework, they turned around immediately.

Olette took her to the closest department store—she also helped her read labels so she would not get hemorrhoid cream mixed up with tooth paste—she bought all the essentials. Clean underpants, tooth paste, a tooth brush and a hair comb, deodorant, make up, socks and clothes to sleep in, two hundred munny. Three very long t-shirts to appease Setzer, two pairs of denim shorts, because he had not said a word about long pants. She did not buy new shoes. She did not want to give up on her old ones. They still fit, and they were metal-soled. They would last a while.

"But they can't be breathable!" Olette insisted as Tess stuffed her foot back into the boot and buckled the leather long-spat.

"Good for stomping metal-bugs."

When Olette started to laugh, Tess realized she had thought it was a joke. She shook her head, "No—no I mean it. Haven City was infested with metal bugs."

Olette tilted her head, then joined her on the floor, "Tell me about it."

It was the first time she had asked—she had shared plenty of information about Twilight Town, but had asked for none in return. Tess sat down on the tile floor, leaned back on the heels of her hands, and explained what Haven City had been like, hot, metal, constantly under threat of attack. Olette listened while they made their way to a second-hand store to buy as many cute clothes as they could with the remaining munny. Tess took the time to explain that, historically, her people had used well-preserved precursor orbs as money. They were the size of a palm, egg-shaped, and said strange things on them, like 'mad man' or 'naughty dog' and other such nonsense—things that made it very clear that they were not meant to be currency. However, in her time, they were not a base integer—they had be come rare, as the orbs had become more valued for the pure precursor metal they were made of—one that was needed in the fight against the metal heads that ravaged the world, and new metalworking techniques and hotter forges meant they could be melted down and made into armor.

By her time, they had become collectors items, very valuable.

"What are the metal heads?"

Tess explained, Olette paid close attention, jotting down notes in a little book she had purchased just for that reason. Much later in the evening, when the sun was setting and the town looked perfect, they found themselves sitting outside an ice cream parlor eating a local treat called _Sea Salt Ice Cream. _Tess only ate it to be polite. She was not partial to the clash of salt and sugar—she did not think anyone in Haven City was. There were not a race for salt—they were a race for hot and peppery. Tess explained a lot of things (many of which have already been explained, and will be explained many, many more times) and Olette took careful notes, enough to write a seven-page report, though she only needed five hundred words.

"But then, as I explained, shortly after Jak defeated the Metal Head Leader, the Heartless came—and I guess one Keyblade was not enough to fend them off."

"Heartless?"

"Little black creatures." She said, "With glowing yellow eyes—have you seen any around here? I haven't, but I haven't been looking very hard. Perhaps they're in the back corners, where people aren't normally?"

Olette scratched her head, "Well, I have heard of them, from Sora, and we do have something similar. Sort of. Sometimes."

"What?"

"But they aren't black, like you described. They're white."

"White?"

"Yes—They've shown up at a few places now, mostly when you're alone, in out of the way places, like the old mansion."

"You mean, that house outside the wall?"

"Yes."

Tess had not seen any on her walk in the woods, "Any where else?"

"Well, the train station. Once."

"Take me there."

Olette did just that, they boarded an automatic trolley as it passed, bags of shopping still in hand, they took it for a little while, and passed the time by snapping the tags and removing stickers from their collection, counting up the small change, and wondering what they would have for dinner later. The trolley reached the end of its tracks and they had to walk the rest of the way, but only after leaving a few of her pieces at the dry-cleaners, and the rest at Olette's house near by to be washed. From there, the quickest way was up a steep hill, which Olette apologized profusely for, but Tess did not mind in the slightest. Hills were a small price to pay for an absence of KG and reckless zoomer drivers.

Their way was barred by a broad man in nicely pressed grey uniform setting up a little blockade—it was hardly a real blockade. Clearly, Twilight Town operated on some kind of complex honors system Haven City could never compete with. While Haven City barricades consisted of a solid troop of Krimson Guards backed with death bots and hellcats and motion-sensing turbo cannons, Twilight Town's barricades were just two brightly colored portable, free-standing fences that had something writing on them, probably, _"Kindly refrain from coming this way and take whatever alternate route you like."_

"I can't believe a place this peaceful has law enforcement!"

"Just two. Seifer makes it seem like he's the thin blue line—but we hardly need one. Let him have his fun. He doesn't get to do much. Sheriff Steiner will straighten it out. He knows I'm the best kid in town. He'll let us through."

She took Tess by the wrist and lead her along. They stopped just before the barricade. There was literally nothing stopping them from walking through it. There was a foot and a half between the two fences, and a foot on either side. She could just walk right through it if she wanted too.

"Afternoon, Deputy Steiner, what's going on?"

Tess could have sworn she had said the _Sheriff_ was named Steiner.

"Well, the Sheriff and I heard some pretty unsettling reports of some hooligans dressed in white harassing some people."

"That's exactly what we're looking for!"

Deputy Steiner looked her over.

"Ah—you're the little miss everyone came home from Gabbiani's talking about. Setzer gave us a call not too long ago. We're looking into more suitable living conditions for you—and we've got plenty of takers. I'm Deputy Adelbert Steiner."

He extended his hand. She took it. He had a good, firm grip. "I'm Tess."

"Deputy Steiner—you've got to let her investigate."

Deputy Steiner folded his arms, "If I obeyed every time Seifer said that, we'd both be locked up."

"She's _not_ Seifer."

"Clearly not, Olette."

Tess summoned Cloverleaf to her side. Deputy Steiner looked it over, then her, "And that is?"

"It's called a Keyblade." Tess answered, "Let me through."

Deputy Steiner tilted his head, folded his arms, and the reached or the little radio clipped on his pocket, "Sheriff Sweetie, do you copy?"

Tess assumed the Sheriff of Twilight Town would object to being called Sweetie. Apparently not.

_"Loud and clear, Deputy Dear. Over."_

Oh, they were married.

"That new girl in town thinks she can handle herself with all these criminal types running around, should I let her through, over?"

"_Ah, good, another trouble maker. I've just given Seifer his weekly slap on the wrist."_ she sounded genuinely pleased by the news, the most dignified of giggles played in her voice "_Perhaps Twilight Town will get its munny's worth out of us, yet. It's been quiet for a while. Five minutes—I'll give the all clear. Over."_

"You got it, over."

"Oh!" Olette jumped, "Oh, Tess, look!"

Tess looked. Beyond Deputy Steiner's beefy shoulder, she saw a tall, narrow figure in a white jumpsuit. Its face was concealed. It stood still, like he (or she, or it—it was quite hard to tell) was waiting for her to see it specifically. When she did, she stepped around the deputy, leaned on the barricade and watched it go, moving in the most fantastically impossible ways. It jumped up and _flew,_ twisting in the air like a corkscrew, fluttering and contorting, stretching and flipping with inhuman ability.

"Did you see that!?"

Olette's fingers slipped over her uselessly as she made a jump for it, "Don't—!"

Tess slipped through the barricade and followed it. Olette gave a little yelp of surprise, exclaimed, "Tess! Tess, wait!" but she obeyed the deputy and she did not follow.

Tess raced after the creature—it was clearly not a person—and followed it through the narrow streets, and for the first time that day, she resented the hills. Eventually, the creature did stop, after bringing her to a square, overlooked by many back windows and balconies, some laundry fluttering in the breeze. It was a dead end. The creature turned, its feet touched the ground, light on its toes, balanced perfectly, and faced her.

The thing—it was too thin to be a real person, an emaciated husk, nothing more—moved in place, shifting its weight from one foot to the next, the pointed hands moving at its sides, slow, easy, almost hypnotically.

Tess felt a bolt of fear jump down from her heart to her right hand. She swallowed her fear, closed her fingers around Cloverleaf until her knuckles were white. The _thing _looked like it would take an easy beating, easy as swatting a fly.

"Well, well, well."

Tess jumped. That voice had not come from the white husk. Had she imagined it? She saw no one else, but it had seemed so clear. The dead end had an echo to it. She could not place it directly. It seemed to radiate from the walls themselves, a teasing, booming voice. While she was distracted, looking around, the thing jumped at her, she yelped and batted it aside with her Keyblade. It was a slippery thing. It flexed and contorted out of the way every time she tried to strike it, and for such thin willowy limbs, it possessed enough strength to send her reeling back with one blow.

"Tess!"

Tess hit a wall. She heard running feet, and a pair of hands lifting her up. She opened her eyes and saw Olette at her side. She felt a sting at her side. She looked down, a bit of a nasty gash marred her middle, nothing fatal, a surface wound. She saw a broad shadow was cast over them. She looked up. Seifer was standing there, shoulder hunched, unwilling to be shown up by an outsider.

"Where did it go?"

"It's gone."

Tess climbed to her feet, the wind knocked out of her, she had to lean on Olette and the wall. She looked around and saw stars, but no weird white creature. As Olette had said, it was gone. The lot was empty. Nothing but the fluttering laundry, Seifer's fluttering white coat, and them.

"What'da know."

Olette jumped, scooted closer to Tess and gripped her free arm, looking around. Seifer turned, face angry, eyes flashing, fists ready for a brawl. Tess _heard_ that. She turned around, her eyes covered every inch of space, Olette helped her walk away from the wall. She had to use Cloverleaf as a crutch. They looked for anyone who could possibly be hiding, even in the smallest of cracks. "Wait until Xemnas hears about _this."_

"Who is Xemnas?"

From somewhere, the voice laughed. Sounded like a cousin of hers. Almost. Tess gripped Cloverleaf a little harder.

"Ain't you cute?"

The last thing Tess wanted to be called was cute. She growled, took a deep breath to try to force her lungs to remember how to work. Evil was afoot and she could not afford to look weak. She stood up straight, stopped leaning on Olette and moved to put her between Seifer and herself. He was a bit of a jerk, but she was glad she had him around. An extra pair of eyes, a ready set of fists. Tess wished that she could place the voice, get an angle on him and force him out of hiding, but she did not find him.

"Why don't you turn this way and let me get a look at that pretty face of yours—A-_ha_! Now that's what I like to see. Haven't seen a Keybearer as pretty as you since..."

In hindsight, she should not have cut him off. In her anger, she had forgotten the value of information. "Don't talk to me like that!"

"Oh-hooo."

_"Freak!" _Olette muttered, "Come on, let's run."

"Momma did _not_ teach her baby to run from fights!" Tess declared loudly, "Show yourself."

She stood up, tall and proud. Her lungs remembered how to work, and her chest was heaving with a mix of embarrassment and anger, heart pounding, body shaking. She would do anything to look as tough as she wanted him to think she was. In reality she had no idea how to use a sword. The heartless had provided a crash-course in heroics, but they had hardly prepared her for a real person who could think and plan, had a sense of self-preservation, and step back when she stepped forward, not a mindless shadowy drone mean only to collect hearts.

She let out a breath, and hissed, "Seifer, take Olette and go.

They did not have time to reply, but Tess heard the beginnings of a firm no from both of them.

"As if! I thought Sora was a lousy hero! _You_ can hardly lift that thing, Poppet."

He only said it to be mean—Cloverleaf was only five or so pounds. She had carried guns heavier. Tess did not move. She had not found him, and she did not want to risk pointing her Keyblade proudly in the wrong direction. She did not want to look weak _and_ stupid.

"It's so obvious you have no idea how to use it, I'm embarrassed for you."

"Oh no, poor you. Fight me!" Tess declared, "And I'll prove I'm the best Keyblade wielder around!"

Not the best boast—considering he had just watched that white thing mop the floor with her.

"That'd be overkill." he replied, and then she saw him, a little flicker of motion, a bloom of misty darkness to her left, then a lone, shadowy figure in a black cloak standing there, wide open, closer to Seifer than he was to her. She faced him and moved to block Olette completely. She would have blocked Seifer, but he moved, refusing to be defended by a girl (or maybe just an outsider. She did not really want to know.)

She pointed the tip of her Keyblade to him, squinted, trying to get a good look at his face, but he used the sun to his advantage. It was completely at his back, casting his face in shadow. He looked to be wearing a hood, too. All she could use to identify him was a strange-looking gun in his hand. Tess was curious about it, she wondered how it was made, how it reloaded. She could not see much, but it did look like it had more in common with a crossbow, not a hand-cannon.

Next came the environment. There was a fire escape, lacing between two sets of back balconies. With a running start, she could get the ladder down, climb up in one, maybe two minutes. Too long. He would slip away, probably when she got up, she would turn around and find him in the alley menacing Seifer and Olette, but he would not retreat. How could she get him to retreat? He was not intimidated by her, there was no way she could scare him in the next few seconds.

"You're so much more useful alive, Toots."

"Ugh!" The _nerve._ She jumped a little, hands in fists at her sides, everything jiggled. He of her knew rushing him was a bad, bad idea. The _other_ part of her really, really, _really got pissed._

"_Tess!_" She rushed forward.

He had instinct, too. She heard a shot, heard Olette scream and felt something slam into her chest. Then she became aware of pain, a familiar pain, like an electric shock delivered from a KG staff. She skidded to a halt and fell back, head slamming into the stone, vision fogging.

"Organization Thirteen will keep that in mind, Sugar."


	13. Chapter 12

Taking orders from Nobody

(disclaimed)

Destiny Islands is just one big Bob Ross painting.

* * *

Chapter Twelve:

When her eyes were dry, and her clothes were slightly more dry, the sun had moved on. It hung high in the sky and Keira noted to herself that it took its sweet time doing so. The days were long here. Long and lazy and hot.

The trio loaded themselves into the little boat and headed back to the island where Kairi and Selphie lived. It was a twenty minute row, but there was very little chance of losing their way in the vast, featureless sea. The way was marked by a few buoys with unlit electric lamps, tiny lighthouses bobbing in the waves. They must have been solar or water powered. That was just being pioneered in Haven City as a stable alternative to Eco.

As they passed one, close enough to touch it, Keira looked down and saw they had been there for so long, and the waters were so calm and peaceful that coral had started to grow on the heavy stone anchors. She rested her elbows on the edge of the boat and smiled down at a school of tiny, silvery fish, flashing in the sun. She had forgotten sea water could be so clear. What was the depth here? Ten feet? Fifteen? Water was always twice as deep as it looked. She heard a gull call, leap off one of the buoys, fly off, and as her eyes followed it, she saw a second trail of lanterns heading out to a third island. There might be more beyond that, though Keira could not see anything more, even if she covered her eyes and squinted. The Islands might be a small archipelago.

"What's there?" she asked Selphie, because it was Kairi's turn to row, and speaking while rowing was understandably difficult.

"I'm not sure. I think someone lives there."

Keira watched the island drift by on the horizon. It was not very big—big enough for private property, maybe. Two families, but not a community. If Selphie and Kairi had not said anything, Keira would have assumed it was the hideaway of a particularly cranky and reclusive Eco sage, but they made it sound like there was not a smidge of Eco to be found. How could that be, a world without Eco? Why would the precursors deny some worlds Eco and grant it to others? They had never even heard of the Precursors. Did they... not create this world? Was it as some back home said, that there was a greater power responsible for the Precursors themselves?

She did not ask. They spoke very little. All that needed to be said had been said already, and no one wanted the girl rowing to feel left out.

Keira took her turn next. She had the upper body strength to pull the oars through the water, from always hefting up heavy machine parts and equipment, but she lacked the stamina for prolonged work. She had to look behind her frequently. Kairi and Selphie seemed to know the way by heart. Selphie switched off with her a little earlier than she really should have. Keira felt like she was imposing, able to weight the boat down but unable to help with the load.

They made land, the boat cut a deep gash in the wet sand as they tugged it up, past the reach of high tide, at the end of a line of about five, their their deep cuts mostly erased by the tide, by people walking past. Keira looked around as Kairi and Selphie put the oars away, tucking them under the boats' seats. There was a hill in the middle of the island. It must have been volcanic at one point, from the top of it, she figured, all sides were visible. There were to many trees, most were in yards, for personal use, she saw plenty of mango trees, a lemon tree, two orange trees, one with star shaped-fruit, a similar one had been on the other island. She could smell the blossoms from here, as well as a smoke house. It was small, as far as islands went, populated, but not cramped—there were many families, generation after small generation living in the same houses. Babies must be born in cycles, like the waves of the sea, with high and low tides. It was an unspoken agreement—no one had many children. Keira did not see any young kids around. Just teenagers.

A little way down, past the line of row boats, she saw a dock and a ferry at the end of an unpaved road.

There was a vendor setting up a stand selling hot, soft pretzels baked in an electric oven and covered with local sea salt or cinnamon sugar. A few yards away in the opposite direction, someone was walking along a few pools with a net and a water-filled tub, fishing out crabs and fish—a salt harvester. A sad looking man with dark hair was going out to sea in a little boat loaded with only a basket, a rope, and a heavy rock. A pearl diver.

Keira had not seen anyone do that it years. Jak had done it—but only once. The pearls he had gained for his efforts had been grey and misshapen and dull and a shark had nearly eaten him so she made him promise he would never do it again. She wished she was able to say she still had them, cherished, ugly as they were, but they had been left in the past and to time. There were fishermen heading out to the water in sail boats. Keira had not tasted real fish in years, either. She had almost forgotten what they were like, natural fish from an sea untouched by plastic and industrial waste in the seas, and tasting of nothing but salt.

Kairi left her side abruptly and rushed to the pearl diver, calling, "Mister Fukui!"

He glanced at her, his sad face relaxed, but he did not smile. He looked like he wanted to, really, really wanted too, but some great depth of sorrow held the corners of his mouth firmly anchored to the ground, then he looked at Keira and Selphie, but he eyes passed over them, he did not truly see Keira, or even Selphie. He gave them a halfhearted wave then looked back to Kairi. Selphie gently touched her arm, and lead her further.

"This is Keira." Kairi reached back and motioned for her to come, but she did not break her gaze from Mister Fukui, "She came from another world that was _lost_."

Lost. She said that word like it held all the meaning in the world. The man glanced at her once more, and really looked at her, her long ears, damp clothes, then back to her face, and he looked puzzled, but for just a moment, a single moment, hopeful. Kairi grabbed her arm, looked her dead in the eye with a deep, meaningful, attention-grabbing stare, "Keira, this is Riku's father, Hideki Fukui."

"Oh..?" bland confusion. "_Oh!_" realization.

Riku, the one that had his heart to darkness, let the islands be lost, had been possessed by the bad guy and never returned. Presumably, his father knew nothing of this youthful foolhardiness. Kairi clearly wanted to keep it that way, but she knew what had happened, she knew the likelihood that Riku would return to his clearly concerned father was very slim. Keira understood that, too—if she had shared Riku's story, she would not want to return and face her family, either. But, she saw that Kairi still wanted her, the living proof that someone could survive the loss of their world, to say something to cheer the poor man up. Message received. Keira shook his hand, and said, "I'm sure Riku is trying very hard to come home."

He smiled, it was sad, but he did smile. He said nothing to her, either because he did not believe her or because he could not speak—or was simply pressed for time. He took the boat out and went out to the shallow reef to dive for oysters, and maybe he would get lucky. Maybe he would find a pearl. Keira hoped he did. She hoped he found nothing but pearls—he was probably never going to get his son back. Her stomach twisted. She knew the pain—she had ached for Daddy, for Jak, for all of Sandover, so long the feeling had become an old, familiar friend.

Now it was time to open up the door to welcome it back.

They walked on, went up the beach to a narrow dirt path leading towards what could be loosely defined as a town square, in front of a sort of local all-purpose building that must have been used as a church, a courthouse, and a meeting hall. There was a closed general store, a doctor's office, and what might have been a school. Folk were milling around, lining up the edges, around an old, deep well that had gone dry and had been sealed off a while ago when modern plumbing came to the islands. The place smelled fantastic, a medley of local flavor.

People were absolutely fascinated by her. They stopped, mid transaction to stare at her, then they met her eyes, quickly smiled, nodded a good morning, like it could hide the gawking curiosity that took root in their hearts. Keira felt the red rise in her face, Kairi and Selphie guided her her along, "Don't be worried. They aren't going to be mean. No one here is mean."

So they introduced her to everyone, literally, everyone, a dark-haired girl with a bosom to full for her young age, selling macrame bracelets of black and colored hemp cord interlaced with beads made of coral, glass that had washed up on the beach, pretty stones, the least favored of pearls, and tiny, carefully crafted pieces of scrap metal, dishes carved from the glossiest mother-of pearl, the outer shells that must have been painted by many different masters, each just as colorful, just as pretty, as the last. Intricately carved cuttlefish bones, and pretty, hand-made dolls, with eyes made from shell buttons. Her name was Lulu. She did not look like she smiled much, but she did smile when she meet with them.

Then a fisherman that sold smoked salmon and dried paopu fruits, and his wife that grilled it in a hot and sweet pepper sauce. It set the tongue ablaze in a rave that had to be stopped with fresh-squeezed lemonade, and Selphie said, as the three girls shared one, that local legend said it would intertwine their destinies forever.

Everyone wanted to give her food, like it was the only remedy for heartbreak. After the paopu fruit, she was given a paper plate of little fried slices of tomato and okra, and another of fried fish and boiled potato with dill. It was only after she had scarfed it all down she realized how hungry she had been.

As they went through the maze of local produce and craft, Keira wondered where they were leading her. They both seemed to have a perfectly good understanding of where they were headed, but Keira was clueless. As they past the final stall of the local farmer's market, a man selling fresh-baked bread, they came face-to-face with a woman with her hair pinned back into a bun, the fly-aways tamed with a bandana. She looked them over, adjusted her posture. She had a basket with her, big enough to carry a week's worth of groceries. "Miss Oshiro, Miss Tilmitt, who is this?"

"Keira Hagai."

She smiled.

It was... strangely warm. Her face went from blank and severe to gentle and understanding so quickly, "You look like a very bright girl. Perhaps, I'll see you in class, Miss Hagai?"

Class? Attend school? Keira had never thought of that before. Erol had raised the subject once, only once. She had declined. It was so costly in Haven City. He had been satisfied with that and had never tried to sway her—probably because it was so expensive. She had thought she would be stifled by the environment, one teacher for many students, when she had grown up with Daddy teaching her her one-one-one. She had thought it would be a waste of money. All she had cared about at the time were racing zoomers. It was all she could bring herself to care about. She had not wanted to learn a past she may never had the chance to live, or become a relic of history in a classroom.

Really, she did not want to go now, either, but the woman seemed so earnest she did not want to disappoint her. "P-perhaps."

"Let her settle in first, Mrs. Trepe."

She smiled, laughed, "Of course, of course. You're more than welcome to stay with me—I've got a spare room."

She did not seem so bad—certainly better than Erol. Kairi had an itinerary. She gave Keira a gentle tug, "Thank you, but I was thinking...The Wantanabe's."

"Oh... Yes." She tilted her head, looked upwards, brought a finger to her lips. She did not sound too certain. Really, it sounded to Keira like she was only pretending to think about it for Kairi's sake. "They might find some comfort, but Kairi, they are still cleaning out Sora's room. They are devastated. Now is not the time for yo—_anyone _to try and bring them comfort. Do not worry about them—leave them be until the Wayfinder Ceremony. It will not bring their son back." Kairi opened her mouth to protest, Miss Trepe shook her head, placed a caring hand on her shoulder, "Miss Oshiro, I know you miss them both terribly, but you must accept that nothing will. Riku and Sora are gone. The best we can hope for is, closure. Miss Hagai—"

"Let me ask, please."

"Yes." Miss Trepe knew when not to argue. "Of course. Give them my best." she let them pass. Keira looked back. She was not watching them go. Kairi and Selphie continued to guide her to the furthest little house, with a fence, a gate, a mailbox that read—Oh by the precursors she could not read it. It was some kind of bizarre scribbling. It was going to make school very awkward if she was unable to read.

Kairi opened the gate, walked up the path with Keira in tow. She looked at the tree in the yard—limes. They smelled much sweeter and stronger than she had ever remembered. There were three distinct green herbs growing in baskets in strung up on a wooden lattice, and some little blue flowers hanging from the veranda that Keira could not name or place, but they were new, she could tell that. Just transferred to the hanging holder. There was a tower of green leaves beside the steps, Keira saw it as Kairi walked past.

Then, for the first time that day, she looked unsure of herself.

She took a breath, straightened her back, and composed herself. She rapped her knuckles against the door. It was quiet for a while. Keira understood why—Sora's parents must have forgotten him, like everyone else had, though no fault of their own, but they must feel so guilty, so sad and lost. Mrs. Trepe was right—they should be left alone.

Slowly, the door opened. A gloomy woman stood there. Her face was pale, her brown hair un-brushed. She looked at Kairi and said, clearly not trilled, "Oh. _You_."

"M-mrs. Wantanabe."

She shrunk a little bit as she looked at her, a hard, resentful glare. Kairi glanced at her, but not for long. She wrung her hands, held the tip of her little finger, then said, "I know you're... cleaning Sora's room still."

"Yes."

"They blame Kairi." Selphie whispered, "Maybe I should have asked. She keeps insisting to talk to them. She wants to make it up to them."

She looked back to Keira, her eyebrows clearly asking for help. Keira looked at the woman and remembered Kairi's words _no one here is mean._ Angry, clearly, but not mean. She walked up the steps, Selphie closely followed her. The woman looked her over, up and down first, ears second, and there it was, a quick little pop, and curiosity, "Wh-who is this?"

Kairi grabbed her arm. Finally, she had broken through the frozen, salted ground and made some headway with them again. She smiled, "This is Keira Hagai she came from another world that was lost, just like ours was."

Keira kept a close eye on her. She was not thrilled or exited with the knowledge. Her face was blank. She was just a huge blank space.

Kairi saw not no response was coming. She swallowed, and what little confidence she had manged to find vanished quickly, "She, um—doesn't really have a place to stay, so I thought, maybe—"

She faltered, stopped, like she expected Sora's mother to offer to house her immediately. She frowned, spit out instead, "Find someone else."

Before she could slam the door, Kairi spluttered out, "But, but—but don't you think—if Sora found his way to another world, you would want someone to show him the same charity?"

Deep, intense glare, blue eyes narrowed, thinking. Stewing. Kairi took a step back, did not wait very long for another bout of silence, she knew the answer, "I—I'm sorry, I'll...Ask someone else. I just though, maybe, it could help you see that Sora is alright."

"My boy is not alright." she hissed, "He is gone—stop pretending he'll return. Focus your efforts on something more productive, like whatever spell was put on me that made me forget him. Bring that back, if you can, because you will _not _bring back Sora."

Kairi took a step back, the woman took a step forward. She was very drunk, and all accusation, "You are to blame for this—always filling my Sora's head with stories of other worlds!"

"I know. I—I'm so sorry." She tried to shrink, her shoulders hunching and her head going down, "I'm so, so sorry."

"You came from another world." she hissed darkly, "Why couldn't you just be whisked back to it?"

She slammed the door in their faces.

Kairi looked ready to cry. Selphie took her by the elbow and herded her away, "Come on, let's go. It was a long-shot. We'll ask the Fukui's or Mrs. Trepe."

"But—"

"They'll come around. They just need something to blame right now, Kairi, and—"

Kairi exclaimed very suddenly, so quickly they both jumped, "_I will not be blamed for this!"_

Keira glanced at Selphie. She tiled her head and blinked, confused. She looked at Kairi—she looked just as bewildered, "Not again. I won't be blamed for it again."

"What are you talking about?"

"I—I don't know." it was only half-said, a whisper. She stared at the ground with a far away look as she walked between them. Keira was curious, but she did not say a word about it. Perhaps it had something to do with her half-remembered dream of a past. Asking would be pointless, in that case. She would not remember. She shook it off, put on a happy face, but it was as clear and fragile as glass, "Let's ask Riku's parents, you're right. It was a long shot."

The Fukui's house was not far away, just across the street, and it was more welcoming that the first. Kairi had hardly reached the stairs when the door was practically kicked open by a woman with hair far too white for her age and brilliant, shining teal eyes. Quite the nosy one, it seemed, because Kairi did not have to say a word, her mouth was hardly opened to greet her with fake happiness, before the woman said, "Yes, of course she can stay with us, I'd like nothing more. Come in, come in, quickly."

She practically pulled them inside. Her eyes were quick, excited, sweeping over Keira and gleaning every little detail she could, down to the last oil stain on her shirt, "Where do you come from, child? Who are you?"

"Keira Hagai." She replied, "Haven City."

"And when you were there?" she asked, tugging her and tugging her until she had tugged her all the way to the couch and sat her down, "Did you see a boy with white hair and eyes like mine?"

She did not seem too distraught, she seemed excited. She was all smiles. Keira wondered why she did not blame herself, wonder where she had gone wrong in bringing him up. How bad must a boy's parents be when he considers stepping into the darkness a _good_ choice? Or was Riku just a rebellious fifteen-year-old with mostly good parents?

"You—you are not worried for him?"

She shrugged, brushed her hair behind her ear and said, "No, not at all. I'm his mother. Mothers have ways of knowing. He's alright, I'm sure of it."

Keira did not believe her. She supposed parents just said things like that to assure themselves everything was fine. Daddy had said things like that. Daddy kept saying that until the darkness swallowed them up.

She shuddered. Riku's mother seemed to notice. "It's true that I'll be very upset when he does come home and he will have to explain why he did not leave a note, but it runs in the family. I ran away plenty of times. I was quite feisty in my youth. I had an uncle than ran off, just up and left completely one day. Pop. Gone."

Perhaps she had slipped off her rocker, just a bit.

"Oh?"

"But did you see him?"

"No, I did not."

She stilled, frowned, and said, "Oh—oh well." The happy came back almost at once, "I'm Shinju."

The door closed. Kairi had slipped out, Selphie must have gone with her, because Keira did not see her, either. Shinju looked her over again, "Let's get you out of those damp clothes. I might have a little something that will fit you, not perfect, but well, and certainly better than they will ever fit my Riku."

She left, disappeared up the stairs and left Keira in silence. She got up. Shinju was rummaging around in an attic, still speaking to her but she could not actually hear it. She kept her ears open for an exclamation of distress or pain. She looked out back. There was a small grove of trees, a few had been cut down and they lay in a small pile of chips, except for the very tips, which had been re-planted. There was a large metal pot there, Keira assumed it was a smoker. Maybe Paopu wood was good for smoking? She must smoke the oysters her husband caught to preserve them.

She came back with good, sturdy clothes. They smelled disused and cold. Shinju pointed her towards Riku's room, where she could change in private. She stripped off her wet clothes and put on the new ones, a long dress made of thick, soft linen. She did not put on her boots again. She only wore them to protect her heels and toes against the hot pavement of Haven City, or use them to crush Metal Bugs. This place was all cool grass and warm, white sand, she did not need closed shoes. Honestly, she hated closed shoes and she would be glad with out them.

When she had changed, she grew curious about Riku. Kairi had explained his actions, not his motives, but she had hardly explained what he was like. Oh, she said he was cool, aloof, always the best at everything. She looked around the room. Who was _he?_

It was clean, but that was probably because his parents had cleaned it for his return. She looked at his closet. What had they hastily hidden away because they could not bear to toss it out? What secrets lay stuffed in there?

She took one look at his loud, gaudy, _clownish_ clothes and she did not want to know another thing.

She closed the doors and thought nothing more of it. She poked around a few magazines that she could not read, but they looked completely normal for a fifteen year old boy. Keira sat down on the bed and let the world catch up with her. It was a lot of change for just half a day, but she also expected that this would be the end of it. It would be just this, many a lazy day here at this limbo in the world of light, simply waiting for her destiny to come to her, waiting for Jak, or Sora, for someone else to do the hard and treacherous labor of restoring the worlds to their rightful places, and restoring her to Haven City.

She sat on Riku's bed and watched the people walk by. Sometimes, they stopped, looked up, and when they saw her they waved and smiled. She waved and smiled back. Some of them came up the walkway to the porch, knocked on the door, and Shinju came up with a little parcel here, a paper bag of things there, clothes that might fit her, things she would surely need, all second-hand except for a school uniform and a set of books and a note in neat, tidy handwriting sent to her from Mrs. Trepe, and a care package of essential and non essential toiletries from the family that owned the general store. Everyone here was so generous and kind. Keira knew by the end of the week, she would not be an outsider, but she still felt like one, she would probably always feel like one. She was an outsider. Even now, she could tell that she was not quite _sitting_ on Riku's bed. She felt as if she was forcing herself to hover a hair above it.

She watched as Riku's father returned, saw her figure in the window of his son's room, and for a second, he looked over joyed, but then he saw it was just her, and he looked a little disappointed, only a little. Keira could not blame him. A little while later she saw a man that must have been Sora's father trudge slowly and sadly back to his house. The lights were off. They remained off.

Keira sat there until the sun went down over the water, and she had dinner with Riku's parents, who, despite their son's absence, continued to make his favorite meal once a week. A bland, but filling, rice noodle, that served as a stage for a hot and savory sauce, topped with red cabbage and carrots grown in the backyard and grilled oysters caught that day. She spoke with them a little more, and concluded that there was indeed no way they could have driven Riku away.

It was not until much later, when she was relaxing in the bath after the sun had finally gone down, that she realized what was missing.

No motorized transportation.

No zoomers like Haven City. No cars like they had in Kras. It was so strange, once she had realized it. She had not seen a single motorized boat, either. No motors. No computers. Even the ferry had been powered by sail. What would she do with the time, if not tinker with machines? She returned to Riku's bed, dried and tired but not ready for sleep. So she remained awake. She borrowed one of Riku's notebooks, only filled with a few simple calculations and a list, a drawing of a raft with measurements written in the negative space around it. So Riku had been the raft maker?

She filled the pages with images of the most basic parts of engines, cooling systems, everything she could remember, as if she feared she might forget, listed be best materials for everything. Clearly, they had access to metals—the stove had been mechanical, heated by a blue flame, not Eco, but the fuel must come from somewhere—however, it was probably not efficient enough to use for Zoomers and cars. Nothing was as efficient as Eco. But the stove, and the electricity for the lights, must use _some_ kind of power, just not Eco.

She worked late, Shinju came up to bid her good night, asked what she was doing and smiled lovingly when she hid it. She waved good night, and they smiled at her so fondly Keira feared (feared was not exactly the right word) she might try to kiss her good night and tuck her in bed. She did not. She went to her room and settled down for the night. Keira thought nothing more of it. Her mind raced like the engines she copied down on paper, jotting down ideas like _mainland. Solar power. Electromagnetic_ Until she was so tired she was convinced she was close to discovering the secrets of perpetual motion. She stopped to stretched, rest her weary eyes, and listened to the silence of the islands. The breeze from the sea, rustling the leaves. A dog's bark in the night. The waves, muffed by walls and glass and distance. Hideki or Shinju snoring directly below her.

The sound of glass bottles clinking together in the kitchen.

Keira's tired eyes snapped open.

She listened, and yes, there was someone in the house. She looked at the crack under her door and saw the faintest glimmer of light. She shook her head, someone was getting leftovers. That was all. Was it time for a midnight snack? She could do with more food herself. Why was she getting jumpy? _No one_ was jumpy on Destiny Islands. She had found paradise. No locked doors. All friendly neighbors. She turned back to her work, reached back to massage her neck.

The snoring stopped.

She heard the faintest of gasps from the kitchen. An innocent snacker would have no reason to gasp.

She heard a murmur from below.

She heard a _second_ murmur distinct from the first.

She looked back at the door. The noise of the islands stopped, except for the dog, and the barking swelled, became the only sound she could focus on as she waited in tense silence until the snoring started again and then the noise from the kitchen resumed. There was a fourth person in the house. Her grip tightened on the pencil. Her eyebrows knitted, her heart began to pound. She looked around the room for the best weapon, all she saw was a beat up soft-wood sword. The only other option was the uncomfortable stool she was sitting on, and it was very unwieldy.

Then she heard footsteps on the stairs.

Keira froze stiff, waited, petrified, until the footsteps came to a stop in front of her door. What was going on? What did they want with her? She glanced at the lamp, realized it was far too late the shut it off and hide in the closet. The intruder had already seen it. It was only a matter of time now. Keira stared at the door. She only knew this was _real_ because she felt pins and needles in her backside, telling her she had been sitting in the uncomfortable wooden stool for too long, and her neck hurt, she had been looking down too long.

There was a whisper, a low, husky voice she never wanted to hear again: "Who's in there!?"

Keira squeaked, "W-who" she lowered her voice, "Who's out there?"

She heard a strange noise, like a hole was being punched in the air, and in the semi-darkness, she saw a little black mist creep under the door. She gave a tiny scream, tucked her feet up, but that was it. That was all that happened. The mist dissipated and the gentle melody of the night resumed. The dog stopped barking. Keira waited what seemed like an eternity before she got up to peek outside the door.

No one was there.


	14. Chapter 13

Taking Orders from Nobody.

(Disclaimer)

The disconnect from the Eco Jak feels should have come up in, like, chapter two. Now it won't come up until chapter fourteen.

Gosh I'm stupid how could I forget about that?

* * *

Chapter thirteen:

"Aerith, I never though I see the day where I had to say it to you." Leon folded his arms and glared at her, "_I. Told. You. So."_

They were arguing.

Leon was hunched over, clearly angry. Aerith stood her ground, the only sign she was upset was a dainty little pout—it was the softest and most civil argument Cloud had ever witnessed, considering Leon was permanently stuck on grumble and Aerith did not have the lung power to scream, "I think you should let him go and I don't see the problem."

"You're arguing with _me_, not _her!"_ Jak did not shout, but he still managed to have the loudest voice in the room. He grabbed Leon's shoulder and twisted him around so they were facing each other. Leon looked at Aerith.

"I can't believe you let him go!"

"He would have snuck out at night anyway, what would you have done to stop him? Sleep in front of the door? Have Merlin enchant his shoes so he can't leave the house until he does a song and dance number about disobedience?"

For one moment, she was not arguing with Leon. She turned her head to look directly at Merlin. Merlin pretended not to hear. He might not have heard.

"I said;_ your argument is with me!_"

Leon knew she was right. It was written all over his face. He did not bother to pretend he thought otherwise, "You can't leave."

"But Leon—"

Cloud's eyes caught sight of a quick motion on the ceiling. The blue, four-armed creature crawled in the rafters. His eyes followed it, and he wondered if it was Jak's supposed companion. He could have sworn he heard something about him being _orange. _Not blue.

"I can handle myself on there. I can hold my own against Heartless. What kind of whimp do you think I am? Do you...?" Jak hesitated for a moment, just a moment, he looked like he did not want to say it. But in that moment, he weighed the risks, weighed the rewards, "Do you know how many _people _I've killed?"

"No." Leon replied sharply. Jak closed his mouth so fast he nearly bit through his tongue. "As far as I am concerned the answer is zero. You have killed exactly zero people. If anyone in Hollow Bastion asks me, the answer is zero. If they ask _you_ the answer is zero. Now; how many people have you killed?"

There was a pause. Jak muttered, deflated, not like he felt guilty (he probably did but that was not what he was thinking about) more like he felt relieved that Leon was determined to stomp his former life out and never bring it up again. "... Exactly zero."

Cloud wondered why Leon had not just admitted Jak was right—he could. Real, complete people that liked to be _alive _were significantly harder to kill than the run of the mill Heartless. Sure, claiming to be a killer was probably something he said to scare Leon into letting him go—that or it was true, and he was a minor with a rap sheet. Still, Cloud wondered why Leon did not admit it. Jak could hold his own. Sora held his own against Heartless all the time, and he was younger than Jak, so age was not the issue. Cloud knew he was not exactly in the loop, but he did know Jak was not a Keyblalde Wielder. Neither was Cloud, and he was lose in the worlds all the time, so _that_ was not the issue.

Leon asked, "And what if you can't?"

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine the monster of a Heartless _you'd_ make."

That was _cold_.

But it was a valid point. Each one of them would make a monster of a Heartless. Jak more so than the rest of him. Cloud supposed he was not supposed to know that. Really, only Aerith was supposed to know. But of course Cloud had been listening in, and Aerith had told Leon because everyone told Leon everything. No exceptions.

"I—I'm sorry." Leon said quickly, "That was no judgment on your character. I'm sure you're just fine when you are not..._that."_

Yuffie stopped trying to reign in the blue thing. She looked at Leon, puzzled, then the blue thing tossed a soft pin cushion at her and she was distracted again. No one but Cloud noticed.

"Oh, thanks!"

Aerith glared at Leon and folded her arms. He avoided her gaze, "That came out wrong."

"No. It didn't."

It was Jak's turn to cross his arms, but he looked oddly smug about it. There was a pause. Jak waited for Leon to try to put a cap on the damage he had inflicted, Leon waited for Jak to say something else in retaliation. He knew he could not fix it. There was nothing he could say that would fix it. Now that the subject was breached, Leon clearly felt more comfortable asking a question that had weighed on his mind, "But can you control it?"

"Oh, _now_ you ask?"

"Your answer does not matter. Cloud or I, we will need to be with you at all times if you can't."

Cloud felt like interjecting, but he could not be bothered. Leon already knew he was not _here _to babysit. He was here to rest up and go look for Sephiroth. If Leon pawned Jak off on him, he would take him out of Hollow Bastion and let him go free, no questions asked, no lectures given. He was no one's keeper. Leon was tightening his grip, Jak was giving him the most independent of glares, a slow burning, smoldering thing, with angry, flashing eyes he must have reserved only for the most oppressive of dictators. Leon just bared down harder. Aerith opened her mouth to say something, she slipped, like she had expected the right words to just magically appear on her tongue.

"I'm not staying here!" Jak was yelling now. "I did _not_ sit though Merlin's Magic Warm Fuzzies just for you to keep me here, caged up like some kind of zoo exhibit. I'm _going_ to leave. I am _going_ to find Daxter. He's my best friend and it's my fault he can't protect himself."

"And you'll have to be patient and let Sora take care of it."

"Again with Sora?" Jak threw up his right hand, tilted his head, "Who is he? You let him travel around and do _what_, exactly? Save worlds? Well I don't mean to brag but I've saved my fair share of worlds too. The same world. Twice."

"Sora's very powerful."

"What's he got, then?"

"The Keyblade."

"Keyblade?" Jak looked interested. His eyes stopped squinting and flashing and grew wide, receptive... Did his ears _twitch?_ He glanced at the blue creature. The blue creature stopped and focused on Leon. That was not the first time Jak had heard that word, but Cloud could not remember bringing it up. Aerith had never mentioned it when she was talking about the town's past, or brought it up when Jak was talking about his past—Jak had never said anything that would have made her say it, though. He had skipped the part where the Heartless came. Cloud could not blame him—no one liked talking about stuff like that, and Aerith had never pressured him. She knew how Heartless worked. She did not know how Dark Eco treatments worked and Ethics Committees _failed_ to work. At the time, that had seemed much more interesting.

The blue thing realized it had stopped, and stopping made it a target of focus and scrutiny. It moved quickly, grabbed one of Merlin's glass beakers, and made a strange noise that might have been a laugh, like some kind of mammalian parrot, threw it across the room, then slipped out of Yuffie's reach.

Leon received a sudden burst of inspiration, "Yes! You said you needed to find one, right? The safest place to find one is to wait right here. He's bound to come back."

Leon had won.

But only this time. Jak heaved a sigh, drummed his fingers on his forearm, thought about it. His eyes flicked to Aerith, then to Leon again, then narrowed, brow twitched, and he opened his mouth, like he was going to say something biting and angry that would split the argument wide open again, then he looked at Cloud by the door, then the window, and he seemed to notice something. He changed his mind, even if he was clearly eager to argue more, he saw something more interesting. "Fine!"

He was waiting, he had something up his sleeve but he was going to sit back and hold onto in instead of slapping Leon in the face with it. Admirable. He had his last word. That was enough to appease him. Before Leon could say anything, he left, striding with a purpose towards the door and flinging it open.

Cloud did not see any reason for them to argue like this. Why not let Jak go? Sure, he turned into a bit of a monstrous freak—but it was damn good at wiping out Heartless so Cloud did not see the problem. Besides, if he was kicking Heartless around in some other world, there was a significantly smaller chance he would cause mass destruction in Hollow Bastion. It was a win-win. To be honest, Cloud took his side. Let him look, what was the problem?

Once the door slammed, Leon glared at Aerith, "He knows something. He found something in Ansem's Castle and now he's got some idea in his head."

"How? He can't even read Ansem's notes. His new pet?"

Cloud glanced at the blue thing. It had taken an interest in Merlin's books and was taking them from the shelves one by one. The Old Loon was not fond of that, and kept urging Yuffie to take them from him.

"Who told him about Keyblade? Was it you? Wasn't me, Aerith."

She was fully prepared to defend herself, "It—I—" She passed a suspicious glance at the blue creature. "Mmm..."

The ears focused on them first, on that word _Keyblade_. Then the eyes. It could hear. It could understand. _It knew_. Yuffie made a small noise of shock and took a step away from it. It knew that _it _was the middle of their conversation. It scurried away, over the rafters, down the wall, and out the door, demonstrating its full knowledge of door knob technology. There would be no escaping it now. Cloud let it go. It was going to go to Jak, where ever he was lurking.

Leon heaved a sigh, "Whatever. He doesn't leave."

"Why not? You know when Sora comes around again he's going to talk to him. Jak will ask to tag along—do you really think Sora will say no?"

"...No."

"Congratulations. You've just exposed the Keybearer to a..." she made air-quotes, that was very out of character for Aerith, " 'potentially monstrous heartless'."

She was angry.

Leon frowned, stared at nothing. Merlin and Yuffie picked up the pieces of the study and put them in order, Merlin mending broken glass with magic and Yuffie putting away books. Cloud was more interested in what Jak was doing than what Leon was going to do—Leon was pessimistic, he was not stubborn. He would come around. Cloud figured the most important thing to do was to calm Jak down, or at least direct his anger to something useful, like the Heartless, or rebuilding something. Pounding down nails was very therapeutic.

He wondered where he had gotten to.

Was that smoke?

Cloud looked up. Yes, it was smoke. He could smell it, but he could not see where it was coming from. All he saw was a thin, level sheet. The source of it was far. There was no need to worry, it was not in the inhabited part of town. Fire was more important that Jak was. If it _could_ reach town, they needed to know. Cloud opened the door again. Leon was in the middle of saying something, "Leon. Get out here."

He stopped, joined Cloud outside. Aerith followed, then Yuffie.

"From where?"

"Dunno. We should see."

They went to the wall, which provided the best view they could get of the town and the surrounding landscape. The smoke was coming from the opposite side of the town, closer to the main square, but it did not look like ruins burning on the own. It looked deliberate. The smoke trail was bright white against the blue landscape, started at a definite point, and reached high, spreading into a sheet above the town. It could have been seen for miles, and Cloud wondered how they had managed to find any green wood, there was not a tree anywhere in Hollow Bastion. A fire like that was not an accident. Someone was there, and if someone was there, that meant the Heartless could get to them. Cloud and Leon had to get to them first.

"It's a signal fire."

Cloud looked at Leon. He had no real way of knowing his exact thoughts, he figured it was something along the lines of: _People. Supplies. Oh shit. Heartless. _And then Jak became a minor footnote. He looked around, took stock of what he had to work with, he had to scrounge up a rescue mission from nearly nothing. "Alright. You, Merlin and Cid should be able to handle it. Merlin can warp you two there, you can search for supplies, and bring any survivors back. You know the drill—Aerith and I can see what we've got here. I think we've got a few empty houses. If anything, someone has a corner somewhere. Yuffie, you'll need to get a good view of it. Merlin's not perfect. He can't warp to a place he doesn't know."

"Rodger."

She backed up as far as she could, pressing her feet against the raised lip of the wall, sprinted the short distance and jumped at the last inch, landed on the nearest roof. She hardly broke stride as she made a straight line, following the smoke. Cloud's eyes followed her across the platforms of red shingles and black pipes until she ran out of spaces to land and she stopped, looking over the rock, estimating the distance, the coordinates, anything she could tell Merlin to help him get them there.

Leon and Aerith left. More mouths to feed, more bodies to house. They had to find a place for then inside _this_ part of town trapped by a moat of heartless. The only thing they had to offer was safety in numbers and a long, long way to go before the town managed to go from 'scraping by' to 'comfortable.' They had managed to get running water to the houses—but to save their fuel, Cid had to manually cut off water heaters. Gas was used for cooking only. No hot showers until they found a reliable source.

Yuffie leaned out. Cloud knew she would not fall. She moved northward, looked at it from a different angle, then moved south, trying to get the most accurate position possible. Cloud did not question it. She had sharp eyes and knew what she was doing. She came back quickly, met Cloud back on the ground, and said casually, "You remember that well on the west side of town? It's in the east now. Funny how that works."

"Yes, funny."

Yuffie added, too casual for Cloud's liking, "Funny how Jak's already half way there, too."

That punk.

She glossed over it, "It's a shame—I don't know if there is a path to that edge of town. Weird how Jak found one—Merlin does better with a view but he can do it with a map. It's kind of hit or miss, though. I'd better come with you, just in case, you know, it's a miss."

She was a little offended Leon had not told her to go and fight, and had instead delegated her to five minutes of recon. Cloud understood, but there were more important things to talk about. "What do you _mean_ Jak is halfway there?"

Yuffie put her hand on her hip, said bluntly, gestured with her hand likes she was talking to an idiot, "I _mean_ he's got _two quarters_ of the distance _covered. _In, seven minutes, tops."

That _punk_.

"Total silence? That's your reaction?"

"I'm not Leon."

"You're not going to go save him?"

Jak would either prove himself capable in the field or too dumb to live. Cloud was sure if he emerged from that swarm he would be injured in body only. His pride would be freshly polished and he would waste no time rubbing it in Leon's face while Aerith stitched him up. "He'll be fine, Yuffie."

He could tell by her face she did not believe him. She tilted her head, raised an eyebrow, and frowned, "Well, he does have guts..." she did not sound confident. "I'll tell Merlin where we're going while Cid gets ready to head out. Go with him? My shuriken are back at the house."

"Sure."

Yuffie opened the door, declared, "Gear up, Cid."

Cid had been in his own world, typing away, tweaking the security system. He had probably blocked out the entire argument. He turned around in his swiveling stool, "What now?"

"New section of town popped up. Survivors lit a signal fire. We're the rescue party."

"Well alrighty then." he dropped his hands sharply against his knees, pushed himself up, "Be back in a few."

Cloud followed him to Leon's house. The door was left ajar—Jak must have come by for his gun before he left. Cloud looked at the table. His gun was there, re-assembled but missing ammunition. Most of it was gone. Some of it remained—but what was strange was that he would just _leave_ his only weapon. Did he now know that magic consumed energy? That it would eventually run out? Had Merlin forgot to tell him that? Perhaps—perhaps he would not be fine? Or, perhaps Jak knew a great deal more about Eco than Cloud did—maybe he knew how to use its properties to their fullest extent. He _did_ say he could channel the stuff. It must be good for something other than bullets. Cloud thought about it as he went up stairs to get Yuffie's Shuriken. Jak was not stupid. Reckless? Certainly—but he was not an idiot. Maybe now the gun and ammunition were less useful than the Eco inside. The gun was just added weight he could not afford, a wasteful way to use what little Eco he had.

They went back to Merlin's. The smoke was a little thicker over head. The fire was going strong. That was good. It meant someone was around to tend to it, and that there would be someone there to save. However, it might also mean the blaze was getting out of control and they would be warped straight into an oven.

Yuffie and Merlin were leaning over the map of the town when Cid and Cloud came back, weapons in hand and ready to go. Yuffie had drawn three lines, using her three positions on the map to triangulate their destination. She knew that map well. She was in charge of every detail on it

"It's up on this outcropping here. Good for them—the Heartless have a hard time climbing up sheer rock walls when the sun's hitting them. Here's the catch, Merlin—_we have a harder time__. _If you miss, the best route up is back here—half mile hike through Heartless up to a climbable slope, blocked off by a _giant bonfire_. Don't miss_."_

"I won't miss!" Merlin exclaimed, "I used to live there!"

She glanced over to them, motioned them over. She had marked a rough outline on the map. "Once we're in, we're fine. This edge here would be a weak point but the fire is on that side, and it's what's holding them off—so we won't need to worry about holding positions while two of us get supplies and gather people up for the return trip. We can focus all of our efforts on getting everything together. That fire is going to last a long, long time. Someone knew what they were doing."

"Sounds like a valuable asset, someone fresh out of the darkness that just guessed a huge fire would hold off Heartless."

"You catch a glimpse of them?"

"Too far away. Didn't see anyone. Only the fire—Seriously. That fire is huge. It's as big as a house. It's beautiful, but we'll need to put it out before the town dies of smoke inhalation because it _will _burn for days. We can't leave it lit_."_

Cloud wanted to get there before Jak ran out of time. It would be a crushing blow to the boy's pride if he and Merlin had to swoop in and save him—but at least he would still have his pride if he was not a heartless. Or just dead. His world would not be the same with out him.

Also, he wanted to get there before Leon noticed he was gone. All Leon would have to do was casually glance over to the sea of black and see a spot of yellow significantly larger than the usual spots of yellow, and Jak would be in so much trouble if he survived.

The door opened.

Oh no.

"Yuffie, I need you to go find Jak." It was clear Leon already knew where Jak was, "I haven't seen him anywhere and I don't have time to go look for him. I need you to make sure he's not doing something stupid."

Yuffie went for sass before reason. She leaned on the table and planted a fist on her hip, "I've already found Jak, and he is doing something _exceedingly_ stupid."

"He's heading over there right now, isn't he?"

"Yep." It was clear Yuffie was kind of proud to see Leon the unruffled was getting ruffled.

Leon the cool-headed, Leon the unflappable, Leon the composed, came dangerously close to losing it completely, "I'm coming with you."

Getting saved was a blow to the ego—getting a lecture when he survived just fine was humiliation. If Jak survived, he proved his point, which was probably why he went in the first place, so Cloud took his side. He wanted to see him go—not because he hated having him around. Leon probably did want to keep him around because a pair of hands that could fight was a pair of hands that needed to stay in Hollow Bastion, and Cloud could respect that, but he wanted him to find Daxter, be happy, that sort of thing, because if Jak managed to find a little glimmer of light it meant _he_ could, too.

"Leon, let it go. He's got something to prove and you've made him feel like he needs to prove it."

Leon did not like that idea.

"He's right." Yuffie chimed in, nodding her head quickly, just little, sharp motions, "It's kind of your fault. I think he's an idiot. But you didn't help."

Leon did not like that, either.

"At all."

"Okay. I'll let it go."

They did not shake on it. They knew better.

"Someone should stay back and guard the town."

"I'll stay." Cid threw up his hands and walked away, jumping from the raised stone dias and heading towards the door. Eager to be as far away from the entire squabble as possible. Cloud did not blame him. If someone, anyone, could keep themselves out of the Jak debate, they should. He waited for Yuffie to back out. Yuffie did not back out.

That... did not work. He had wanted Leon to stay. He would say what he meant next time. Leon would ignore it, but he would still say it.

Cloud looked back to Merlin. _He_ wanted to stay out of it too. But he was their transportation. He had no choice. He sighed, stroked his beard, twirled the end, then shook his head. There was puff of smoke, a feeling of falling, and they were standing in the middle of a street, the doors of the houses were busted open, windows broken, shutters and frames stripped out. Every house, save one, had been gutted to make that bonfire. It was loud—so huge they could feel the heat from this distance. Yuffie was right, it would burn for a while.

Jak was no where to be seen.

Leon looked around, surveyed the damage, "Spread out."

Cloud looked at the one house that still had a door—Yuffie went right for it. She knew a good opportunity when she saw one. Cloud went to a different one. There was not much, but being held in darkness was great for food shelf-life. It was not a permanent fix, but it would help. A few bags of flour, some sugar, vegetables, coffee. It had a slightly stale taste to it, but it was not lethal and it would hold the town for a little while, before the Scrooge McDuck brought more from Disney Castle.

There were a few blankets spared, some clothing. Cloud saw a damp towel in the sink and he knew why the fire had burned like green wood, damp fabric spread over the flames. Not enough to kill the blaze, just enough to choke it. But who had started it? Where were they? Did they go down to meet Jak? Had they seen him? Should he go check?

He left the house, the blankets and clothing in hand, and saw Jak looking at the pile of supplies, clearly baffled. He scratched his head, turned to the blue creature, and said something to his alleged new pet. Cloud was paying enough attention to see the blue 'alleged new pet.' straighten up and move its mouth to form words which Cloud could not hear over the roar of the fire. It was not a pet. Pets did not speak. Then it stopped, twitched, their focus shifted to him and they both fell silent, watching him, eyes wide as he walked up. Trying to appear innocent, unblinking.

"Cloud? How did you get here?" Jak did not wait for the answer. He narrowed his eyes and asked the more important question, "Is Leon with you?"

"_I found somebody!"_

It was Yuffie. Leon rushed to the last intact house. He did not see Jak. Cloud stayed behind. They did not all need to rush in there. His second question was answered, so he answered the first. "Merlin can warp."

Jak looked extremely disappointed.


	15. Chapter 14

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

Did The Land that Bleeds Eco have Keyblade Masters that took part in the Keyblade war?

Did the Precursors know about Kingdom Hearts?

_Did Jak come from a pre- Keyblade War Universe?_

* * *

Chapter fourteen:

The survivor was an old woman. She looked shaken, a little confused, but relieved to see them. Jak thought there might be more than just _one_ other person. There was a whole swathe of town here. There should be more people, unless the world was lost when everyone was out at a festival, leaving only one old woman in her house. That seemed... Highly unlikely. Perhaps they should wait around? Maybe more people would start popping up? Or would they never come back? Maybe some people had wandered a little further into darkness than others?

Jak had so many questions. The most important of which was: where was the man in the black coat? Jak looked around and did not see a trace of him anywhere. He had vanished. He had left his fire and vanished.

How could he vanish? Where was there to go? Jak checked each top-story window carefully. Nothing. He refused to believe it—he had seen a lot of crazy things, heard crazier things, he refused to believe that he would just _vanish_ like that! He heard Stitch move, make a break for one of the abandoned houses. He was quick on his feet. Quicker than him.

"What are you looking for?"

Jak looked back at Cloud. He considered not telling him, but he also considered the fact that Cloud seemed a little more sympathetic to him than Leon did.

"When I was making my approach I saw a man in a black coat." He pointed to the far end of the stretch of town, "He was standing there, on the ledge."

There was not much of a reaction, but Cloud did look like he was thinking about something. He looked around. His eyes lingered on the last complete house, the door was slightly ajar, moved on a draft. Jak looked too. The old woman was sitting at the window in a rocking chair. She glanced out to them, watched for a little while, her mouth stopped, mid word, then she smiled at him, waved. Jak looked back to Cloud. He was staring in the direction of the fountain, barely visible between the roofs of two houses. He asked, not looking at him. "In a hood?"

"Yes." Jak turned. Had he reappeared?

No. He did not see any sign of him. The lip of the fountain was completely empty.

"Huh."

Cloud knew something. Jak could tell because he turned on his heel and walked away before Jak could ask _what_ he knew. Jak heaved a sigh and folded his arms. Sympathetic and _unhelpful_. An irritating combination. He might as well help gather supplies—anything to keep Leon from grabbing him by the ear and scolding him. He was close to swooping in. Jak could just feel him. No one was going to talk down to him again. Really shitty things happened to him when these people talked down to him, and he wound up with things like magical macrame shackles.

He tried, once again, to free himself from the cord around his wrist. It refused to budge.

"_Jak!_"

Jak sighed again, slouched and faced the sky, "Yes, _mother!?_"

Leon froze for a blink, decided he did not care what Jak said, and kept walking towards him.

Jak tried to wave him away. "You can criticize from a distance!"

Leon kept coming for him. Jak considered making a break for it. He wondered how grumpy Leon had to look before he came to blows. Honestly he did not seem the type. He was a bit like Torn in that regard—talking big, throwing his weight around, but never lifting a finger against his mates. It would disturb order. Hit one underling and suddenly they all want to turn against you. A good leader was smarter than that. If you wanted to hit someone, you have them a bad mission, let the Metal Heads hit them for you, let them beat the surly nature out of you. Leon came to an abrupt halt out of Jak's reach. "She asked to talk to you."

"What?"

He pointed over his shoulder, jerking his thumb back to the window. The old woman still sat there, rocking a little. She was speaking to someone, probably Yuffie. "Her. She asked to talk to you."

Jak looked from Leon to the old woman. He was baffled. She came home after ten years and she wanted to talk to him? The strangest thing she saw when she first looked outside her window? Yeesh, what kind of treatment had the guy in the coat gotten? She had probably offered him lunch or something. "... Why?"

Leon did not answer. He had resigned. He was done. He had bigger tragedies to prevent. He would no longer fight against the current—but that was not going to stop him from sitting in the riverbed holding his breath like a child while it passed him by. "Just go."

Jak shrugged, "Okay. I'll go."

He was not actually interested in keeping some old woman occupied. But as long as he did not have to escort her back, he would put up with just about anything. How hard could sitting down and having a conversation be? Besides, she had just come out of the darkness—maybe they could help each other get through it.

He did feel weird. He felt disconnected. Out of sorts. He had thought it was just the sudden relocation, the shock of waking up, no Daxter, no one. But—it was more than that. This world did not have any Eco. He had not thought being able to channel it as anything special. When ever anyone asked what it was like, he had always shrugged before, said it was nothing special, it felt normal, it could not feel any different than _not_ feeling Eco. Now, though, it felt like he was walking just a hair above the ground. He was not connecting to anything.

He hoped it would go away soon. He hoped it was just an issue of acclamation, like going too high too fast, or eyes adjusting to the sun. He did not want to think of what would happen if that was not the case.

The old woman spoke up as soon as he walked in. "Leon said you came from another world."

"Yeah, yeah I did." He was only half listening.

"What was it like?"

"Oh, you know..." she was not Aerith. He did not feel the need to tell her the truth, "'bout like this one."

There was a tense pause. She was probably mistaking his gruff demeanor for hostility. He should tell her it was not personal. He was that way to a lot of people. Jak looked around. It looked typical. Cozy.

He opened his mouth to ask her about the man in the black coat.

She spoke first, "And can you... travel freely between them?"

"I wish!" Jak exclaimed with out thinking, he rolled his eyes, put a hand on his hip. His bad habit of avoiding eye contact came in handy. He spotted a photograph of Kairi and that red-haired kid on the wall. "Leon's got me on such a tight leash..."

Wait.

"Oh." she was disappointed.

_Wait!_

He turned. "You're Kairi's Grandmo—"

The words were barely out of his mouth before she demanded, "_Where is she?_"

"You're Ansem's cleaning lady!"

"Yes, but—"

"You knew Lea and Isa!"

She sounded a little confused. She wondered how an outsider could know so much about it already. She sounded reluctant to tell him, but she did. "Lea was just here."

Jak's stomach nearly pole-vaulted out of his mouth. "Where did he go? Where is he now?"

"He's... not out there?"

She was worried. Jak realized he was getting too exited, too demanding. He needed to calm down. He was making it worse—but this was amazing news. Ansem's c_leaning lady_—she had probably seen some of Ansem's darkest secrets, and unlike Kairi, who had been too young to remember, she must have a good memory of it. He would have counted himself lucky if he would have found Kairi, but this... And _Lea_. The man in the black coat and Lea were one in the same, and he was wandering around somewhere, too. Probably nearby. He had slipped in to Ansem's labs, right? He might have seen something. He _must have seen something_. Why else would he have vanished?

This was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry. I need to find Kairi. I have questions for her—but maybe you can help me, too? Just tell me everything you know."

He pulled a chair close to her and sat down, never taking his eyes off her, for fear she would vanish any second. This was too good to be true. This was amazing. Where was Stitch? He needed to hear this.

He did not want to call him. He did not want to waste a second.

"Find Kairi? You say that like you know where she is. Where is she?"

Fair trade. Information for information.

"I wish I could say for sure." Jak replied, "But I can't. All I know is what a woman named Aerith told me. About a year ago, she was kidnapped, brought here. A boy named Sora came to get her back—and he succeeded. She's safe in... Sora's home world. That's all I know. That's all she would tell me. When we get you out of here I'll take you right to her and you can ask her anything you want—tell me everything you know about Ansem the Wise and his work."

She looked him over, wondering if she should believe him or not. She did. Clearly, he had told her more than Lea. "It all started six months—"

"Six months?"

"Sorry—ten years." she corrected herself, "Ten years and six months, I suppose, when Ansem the Wise hired me to clean his labs and private quarters in the palace. He said he did not want to trust royal servants with the task. He figured he palace would hire anyone and he wanted someone he knew could keep their mouth shut about his research—he hired me."

In Haven City old women were considered incurable gossips, so Jak questioned how wise Ansem really was—he kept it to himself. There was no point in offending his best resource. "Go on. His work? What did he research? What was his focus?"

"He told me he was studying the mechanics of the heart, trying to find what put it out of balance, and how to get it back in balance. I did not really find anything worth sharing, but I suppose he took extra care to make sure I did not. Perhaps he figured it would be easy to fool an old lady. Perhaps he was right. It was not really hard work, a little dusting, a little sweeping, his assistants cleaned up after themselves, so no scrubbing noxious chemicals. And, he was one of my only employers that let me bring my granddaughter, Kairi, to work with me."

So Kairi made regular trips. That must was obvious in hindsight. She had told Lea and Isa stories, right? Regular visits, regular stories—where was she getting them? If Ansem was wise, he would not do experiments on people in front of a little girl. Jak stopped thinking. He kept his lips firmly shut, and his ears open. She said nothing Jak thought was relevant, or was particularly new to him. She usually sent Kairi to daycare when she had to, or sent her to Isa, a good, responsible student, who tutored Kairi in language and mathematics, and absolutely refused to coddle or spoil her, but Isa often came with Lea, the local layabout—a terribly bad influence, who distracted her from her homework, insisted she eat ice cream before dinner, and called her princess for no reason other than _she said she wanted to be called princess._

Jak really did not care. "And you just saw Lea?"

"Yes. I did. He has tattoos now. Here and here." She pointed below her eyes, "Gaudy things. Don't suit him at all. He looked..." she thought for a second, "Sad, and..."

Jak was too eager to hurry things along. "But did he say anything about what happened to him when he disappeared? How it happened? Anything? Did he say anything about Isa? Or Kairi?"

She thought about it, "He did. He said Kairi was safe... but he didn't elaborate. He did not say how he disappeared, and I don't recall him saying anything about Isa. Isa might _not_ be coming back and... when I mentioned his mother he... didn't really respond well."

"Bad relationship with his parents?"

It would explain why he did not come back to the town. That, or he felt some kind of shame for being known as the town delinquent.

"No. Good relationship with them. They were perfectly nice people. I never saw him or Isa with any unexplained bruises and they never turned up at my doorstep at midnight crying. Furious, yes, but never crying. I remember one time..."

"Okay, okay." He _really_ did not care, "Just, go back. Go back to your job with Ansem the Wise. Forget about seeing Lea. Go back to Ansem. Are you absolutely positive you did not see anything suspicious? Anything at all?"

The Old Woman knew something. He could tell but the way she frowned and narrowed he eyes.

"Anything?" Jak felt like he was begging.

"Yes." she nodded, "Two, maybe three or four, weeks before Isa and Lea disappeared for the first time—"

First time. Lea and Isa disappeared multiple times. Jak made a mental note to come back to that.

"—Ansem got a new apprentice. Now, I only heard rumors, but I heard that he appeared in the square in front of the palace, no memories at all. Just a name. Xehanort."

Jak nodded to urge her on.

"Xehanort took a..."

The door opened a little more. Stitch came in, saw the Old Woman, and seemed to think for a moment. Jak looked at him for just a second.

She stopped talking, looked out the window. She was collecting her thoughts, thinking of the best way to say it. Jak glanced back at Stitch—he was pulling the lower pair of arms into his sides. That looked painful. He smoothed out his appearance. Less of a mutant freak, more of a fuzzy pet. Then he presented himself too her, on all fours. He knew how to approach strangers.

Kairi's Grandmother took a breath, looked towards Jak, noticed Stitch, and her face relaxed. Stitch made her little more relaxed and trusting. "He took a strange interest in Kairi. I don't want to know what he was thinking about when he watched her—but he watched her like wolf stalks prey. I remember once, pretty clearly, I was taking a break in the library, and Kairi and Ansem's ward, a boy named Ienzo, had been playing in the foyer, they must have gotten into an argument, because Kairi came running to me, upset, and she asked me to tell her a story to cheer her up. And I did. Ienzo came by about halfway through. She forgave him, but he did not apologize. He did not say a word. They left the library. I looked up at the second floor."

Then she shuddered. Jak laced his fingers, propped his elbows on his knees. Pressed his thumbs against his lips. His insides were twisting. He did not like this.

"And _there he was_. Watching her. And I know it was her, not me, because he walked out to the foyer, and I followed—that's all he did. Stand there and watch her. Like he knew something. Like he was planning something. I did not want to bring her with me any more. I started taking her to the daycare when I worked. I requested different hours, asked if I could come on the weekends when Isa and Lea could watch her, because even an irresponsible hooligan is better than some predator leering at her—and Ansem let me."

Jak chewed on his lip. Aerith had been right. Ansem? Starting not to look like the bad guy. Xehanort? Might be completely insane—might be totally evil. Jak had never met a _good_ person that considered 'watching children play from a corner' to be an acceptable past time.

"Kairi had not noticed him, she could not understand. She just wondered who Ienzo would play with. I tried to convince Ienzo's main caretaker, Even, to let him out of the Palace for a playdate, more space, some fresh air, but he outright refused, though I know he would have allowed it before. Then, one night, after I had put Kairi to bed, two of Ansem's security, though at this point I thought they were more _Xehanort's henchmen_ than Ansem's Security, showed up, Aeleus and Dilan."

It was getting interesting again.

"I thought they just had a message from Ansem that could not wait, thought they were there to tell me not to come back. But they did not come out with it right away, asked for some tea, asked how I was feeling, how Kairi was doing, looked at a few photographs, then said I had to start bringing Kairi with me when I worked. I refused, they said the Unversed—"

Unversed. Another thing he would have to ask about.

"Were getting stronger. Though I know for a fact I had not seen a single one since Xehanort had appeared in the square. I still refused. They said Ienzo missed her. They said he needed her there. That Ansem the Wise was trying to figure out what was wrong with him—but what ever it was, he needed Kairi there to stave it off. I refused again. I told them about what Xehanort had been doing, lurking around the way he was. They believed me. I only agreed to bring Kairi back because Aeleus gave me his word that he would keep a close eye on Kairi. And he kept that word. If she was in the palace, she was within his sight."

"That didn't frighten her, constantly having a security guard around?"

"Aeleus? Frighten a child? No. Aeleus loved children." she spoke with sudden conviction. This was a sore spot, "He was the only one who treated Ienzo like a _child,_ not some—" she stopped to explain, "Ienzo was very intelligent. The smartest child I've ever met. Smarter than Isa—but he was not... _right_. If you'd met him, you'd know. You would have seen. It was in his eyes. They looked through you. He rarely spoke."

Jak thought that was a little unfair to say, considering.

"At least, I never heard him speak, but Kairi said he did. He was not like most little boys. He and Kairi fought frequently—things that upset her, but she would never tell me what. It was not like other little boys upset her. Not in a 'boys will be boys' kind of way, where I could comfortably say 'oh, he just doesn't understand how sensitive a little girl could be.' And not in a way she would not get over. What ever Ienzo said to make her so upset, she's still keeping it bottled up. After I started bringing her back, he was worse, just for a little while. Then it stopped completely, he was not the same child anymore."

Jak wished he had something to write all this down.

"I heard rumors about creatures similar to the Unversed being spotted in the city. A few days later, Lea and Isa disappeared for two days, showed up again with Aeleus. They'd been hiding out in the palace. A week later, Kairi was gone."

Jak was floored, "Just _gone_? Like that? No screams for help? Aeleus didn't see—"

"Aeleus was not there. She disappeared outside of the palace. Lea and Isa had taken her to one of the outer courtyards. The Unversed had not been seen for weeks. Isa told me that yellow-eyed creatures had appeared. There was a bright light and Kairi vanished with out a trace—if Lea had told me the same thing, I would not have believed it. Lea said Xehanort was responsible. He said he had heard him talking to Braig when he was in the palace. He left, Isa went with him—And they were gone, too."

Three disappearances that could be tied to Xehanort.

Jak was no student of criminology—but three times was a pattern if he ever saw one.

"What did Xehanort look like?"

"Tan skin. Darker than yours. Light hair, white. Gold eyes."

_Not-Terra. _Jak pressed his lips together. He thought back, searched his head for anything about Kairi. Aerith had not told him much. Just that ten years ago she had vanished, but clearly she had reappeared somewhere else. And that someplace had _Sora. _And Sora had a keyblade, which he had used to cut a trail though countless Heartless to get her back. From Hollow Bastion.

She had vanished from Hollow Bastion, and nine years later, had been brought back _to Hollow Bastion._

_By who?_

Aerith had not told him. She had beguiled him with some promise of healing, weakened him with words and made him forget how to properly interrogate until the last thread was found, that _wonderful, caring bitch_.

"I have photographs."

"What?"

"Aeleus took them."

She had a photo album on the end table beside her. Jak thought about the photographs he had seen in Ienzo's room—he did not know which of the security guards he had seen had been Aeleus—the image of any of them taking photographs seemed strange to him. He had never really practiced adding an element of humanity to security guards. He had been too busy putting them in the hospital for that. It should be easier with this batch. They did not wear face masks and full body armor.

She picked it up and indicated that he should stand. While he crossed the room and Stitched climbed up the back of her chair he asked, "Which one was Aeleus?"

"The one with red hair. He's not in many. That one. I took this one."

He was... kind of scary-looking, that chin was impressive, and that stare was intense. But the photographs were not taken by someone who did not get children. They were taken at their eye-level. Low... And Ienzo did not look happy in any of them. Jak tried to imagine such a huge, burly, serious-looking man like Aeleus getting down on the ground to take photographs at a child's level, then tried to imagine why a security guard would even bother. His thoughts were interrupted by an old, short finger sneaking into the frame, pointing to the corner, "There. You can see Xehanort."

There was Not-Terra—er, Xehanort, lurking on the very edge of the frame. Aeleus may not have noticed him—maybe he did. Maybe that was the point. Catch Xehanort in the act, deliver the evidence to his boss, and get rid of him. Clearly, that had not gone well. Kairi was still missing, to this day. Though Lea apparently knew something—which means he may know something about Isa, too—may know something about Zack, may know something about Xehanort. Jak squinted at the photograph. Stitch leaned closer, and Jak knew he saw what he saw. There was a second figure, shadowy, just beside him.

"And who is he? Who's that?"

"Probably Braig. Yes. Braig."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"A little abrasive. A little friendly, but in that way that let you know he doesn't really care if you like him or not. Blunt. There was no hidden meaning with Braig. I think he mostly worked nights, but he was sometimes around in the day.I do not think he had a life out side of work."

Jak did not know. Jak did not care.

"Anything suspicious about him?"

"Sometimes he'd be with Xehanort when he watched Kairi—but I don't think much of it. Until Lea said they were planning something, he never really seemed like a threat. His attention was never on her."

"And which one was that?" A man with long sandy hair that looked like he was sucking on a lemon.

"That one was Even—Ienzo's main care taker. He was Ansem's ward, legally, but Even got stuck with him all the time. And Even, being _Even,_" there was that bitter tone again, "Made what ever problem there was worse."

Jak thought about the child's binder. Some of that must have been Even's doing.

With out asking, Jak took the album from her hands. Stitch climbed on his shoulder. He was heavy, bulky, hung down his back awkwardly. Jak searched through the photo album, memorizing each face.

Xehanort was... well built for a scientist. The Red Sage had been burly—but he had come from a rougher time. Haven City and Hollow Bastion were far cries from the past in his world. All of the scientists he had known recently had been older, their forties, at best. Some had been slender, others skeletal. Bad posture, weak limbs. When they were near him, they had armed guards and he had been chained down, because they all knew the kid they had started their experiments on could break them like glass and they did not like that idea.

Okay, but... If that was Ansem's office, and _Not-Terra_ was the man in the portrait—Why did he have a huge portrait of his clearly insane apprentice?

Was it a gift? From his _clearly insane apprentice?_

What a self-absorbed piece of shit.

But Ansem was not the bad guy. Jak had been wrong there. It was Xehanort. Hollow Bastion had been coming in and out of darkness for ten years. Lea must have been doing something. What if Xehanort was, too?

He looked out the window. The fire was dying out.

Clearly, Lea knew about the Heartless—She had said he had aged, so unlike her he had not been lost in darkness. He had gone to a lot of trouble to protect her from them—a lot of wood went into that fire. It had not just been just to call them—but he _had_ known they were there. If he knew there were people living here, why not come home and help out? Hollow Bastion was in danger every second.

"When Lea said Xehanort had something to do with Kairi's disappearance, do you remember his exact words? Exactly what he said?"

"I do remember what he said. But it did not make any sense. He said Xehanort and Braig were talking about twenty pieces of... something. I asked him what for, I did not get a clear answer. Not from Isa, either. Lea's not himself. I don't think he has been himself since that day. Be careful of Lea."

"What do you mean?"

"He did not seem to know me. He called me Nana. They never called me Nana. They called me Auntie. He called _his_ grandmother Nana, but not me. And when I said the name 'Kairi' it... didn't seem to affect him. He did not say a word about Isa—and they were inseparable. It was like bluffing his way through an exam. Excited one minute, cold the next."

"He... Did not tell you how he got here? Where he was going? Or how he knew Kairi was okay, did he?"

"No. I want to trust Lea. He was not a bad child, just a lazy one. But would not put too much stock in him with out Isa."

Jak bit his lip, and for the old woman's sake, he did not share any of his thoughts out loud. If Lea had not wanted anyone poking around in the past, if Lea was in the wrong, he would not have let them know she was here, because she was a mine of evidence. But if Lea was not up to something dirty. He would have said where Kairi was. If he could arrive as easily as he vanished, he could have taken her to Kairi. If he had _planned_ on finding her, he could have brought Kairi ahead of time.

He looked back up at the photograph of Kairi and Lea. He was pulling on her hand, smiling. There was nothing bad there. He was a normal, smiling kid.

* * *

There is a weird dichotomy here.

Status quo is god; meaning Sora can't meet Kairi's Grandmother and can't make the Xehanort's heartless=Xemnas=Ansem impersonator=Not Terra connection too early, and certainly can't hear it from Jak.

That being said now that Sitich is chilling with Jak, who is going to get Sora sucked into Space Paranoids?


	16. Chapter 15

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

OK Game of Thrones is over for a year I can work again.

* * *

Chapter fifteen:

Jak's focus was wholly on some old pieces of metal.

No ammo—no gun. No gun? He either got swept up by a sea of heartless, or he adapted. Jak was never one to get passively swept along.

The castle across the way, Villian's Vale, had been a good resource for scrap metal before the Heartless had flooded the marble gorge between the two, Cid and Cloud had made several runs out there, when they had a trailer and a set of wheels that had worked, and hauled as much as they could, squirreled it away in various houses, so if a piece of this fragile world broke away, not all of it would be lost. Pipes, some big enough to crawl through, thick sheets of steel, corrugated tin, rebar, and gears. They could be used for patching up the debilitated houses, fixing the odd machine, or in Jak's case, a full metal hammer meant for heavy, close combat.

It was no Keyblade. It was simple, and a far cry from elegant. Jak had spent the better part of an afternoon scraping of the rust with steel wool. He had managed to get to Kairi's Grandmother, but _managed_ was the keyword there. He had scraped in by the skin of his teeth. That was something he was not going to risk again. A melee weapon would keep the heartless back while he recovered enough energy to cast magic again. Blunt force was just as effective against heartless as stabbing, he had never seen one bleed, and with as much as he jumped around, he was more likely to hurt himself on an exposed blade than anyone else.

The rust flaked off, he thought about things. He thought about Torn—it was strange to think of him, Mr. _most likely to die while drunk off his ass and acting completely stoic in a blaze of glory_ as gone, not dead, but snuffed out. He supposed that was what the darkness did. Extinguished a life like a candle until a Keyblade lit up the world again. Then he thought about Ashelin, and Erol, and it was a damn shame he had died before the Heartless had come, or perhaps not. Heartless Erol. That was an enemy Jak never wanted to face. Then he thought about Daxter, and he thought about Keira for a little while, too, and then Tess. She must be somewhere, gallivanting around with her Keyblade. Would she sit still, guard the world she found herself in, or would she strike out on her own?

If the Keyblade was so damn important; she would be the one seeing all of the action. It would be her turn to play hero. His first impression of her had been of a mostly nice girl, homey. Not the kind of girl that would actually go to work for a guy like Krew. Then again, there had been a time in his life where he would _never_ go to work for a guy like Krew, either, so who was he to judge? There was more to her than he knew—the Keyblade had chosen _her _not _him _after all.

He was jealous. He was confused. "What has she got that I don't?"

From across the table, a square plug in one hand and a tangle of steel wool in the other, Stitch tilted his head. He had all his arms out. All four of them were working; even when his focus was on Jak, he kept working—he was incredibly coordinated. "Who?"

"Tess."

"Ohana?"

Jak wondered if Stitch had two groups of people, _'ohana'_ and '_enemy_' but he did not wonder long—he doubted Stitch dealt only in black and white. Honestly, he seemed _nice_. He looked a little scary, Jak would never argue that, he looked like he could claw your eyes out, and if he clamped his teeth down on your arm, a good chunk would be taken with it. But now, it seemed unfathomable that he _would_ bite.

"No." he answered, "Not quite—She had a Keyblade. I don't know if she survived, but I think if anyone else did, it would have been her."

A little glimmer of laughter played across his face, "Bet munny?"

"Stitch, I'm _broke_."

Stitch laughed, went back to working. Jak shook his head, smiled to himself, went back to thinking. What ever had made the Keyblade choose Tess, he was sure he would learn it when he saw her again, or when he met Sora. It probably liked optimistic, big-hearted people. He was neither one of those things. He thought about Daxter for a while—tried not to think about him being turned into heartless. He hoped, mostly for his own health, that if Daxter had made it through the darkness, then he would have found himself in Sora's home world, safe, sound, hitting on Kairi. He did not worry about Keira. She may have been snuffed out—but lost in darkness clearly did not mean she was _dead. _Now, he was certain he would see her again.

All he needed was a key.

He needed to refocus. He had access to things Sora and Tess did not. Information. He needed to use it. He had never successfully figured out a villainous plot before the bad guy spilled the beans, but was always lifted his spirits to try, and Daxter had always gotten a kick out of thinking up the stupidest things.

"Suppose..." he was really just talking to himself, "Not Terra—_was Terra?_"

"What?"

"Look, if a heart—obviously, not a blood-pumping heart, a more metaphysical thing—can be removed by darkness, stands to reason that it's not all that hard to remove, right?"

Stitch was slow on the uptake, "Ich."

"What if it can be removed by _other_ forces? And what if something can be put in its place once it _is?_"

Stitch was a little faster this time, "Ich."

"So, what if _Not Terra_ was Terra? Terra's body with some other guy's heart, probably named Xehanort, in it's place? A kind of... soul transplant?"

That sounded stupid, but that was the point. Stitch, either humoring him or seeing some angle Jak was not able to see, genuinely pondered that. His arms stopped working, his eyes narrowed, he said one word, "Hair."

"Well—" _Hair. _Jak ran his fingers through his own—a solid seven months out of jail and he still had not gotten around to cutting it. _Horns_ kind of deterred that. "You know as well as I do that genetic manipulation is possible, it's just painful and takes a lot of time. Time and pain Xehanort might not want to deal with—but at the same time, if he's recognized now, the gig is up. So maybe he would—Or maybe it's... A kind of illusion? It's not like magic is completely unheard of."

Stitch nodded, he was still thinking. Jak went back to scraping at the rust. The better pipe-based weapons were filled with sand to add weight and absorb the shock that would come with each hit. Hollow Bastion was not a wealth of sand. He had metal shavings, eco from his useless ammunition, and maybe a few chips of gravel if he wanted to spend the day looking for them—he did not. Where would he get sand?

"Xehanort is smart guy, obviously. Not just any idiot can figure out how to transplant their personality into another body. Of course—it really gets to be completely ridiculous when you think about _why. _Why take a body? What does that accomplish? Was it because he was dying? Midlife crisis? What happened to his original body? Did he... maybe he needed Terra's Keyblade and Terra wasn't following orders? It's too big a thing to do just for fun—That was a whole person he just... _erased._ How can you do that without a second thought? But even then, what's more likely, some crazy old man just decided to go body snatching—or two different guys from two different worlds just happened to have the same face, build, and hair style? Just different colors? Does the universe do cheap palette swaps?"

Stitch shook his head, "No. Not that I've seen."

"Right." Jak sighed heavily. The steel pipe was finally rust free. He made sure the end cap was secure around the bottom and started to assemble the head from a T-adapter, threaded connections, and a pipe cap. Stitch was not quite done with the square plug or the adapter that he needed to attach it. He was not going to rush him. "Had Terra been here before? Had any of them been here before?"

Stitch just passed him a glance that asked _does it look like I know?_

"I would say maybe Xehanort had been a Keyblade wielder—but I thought the Keyblade only chose good, pure people? That's why I don't have one—but how would Xehanort and Terra had any permanent contact? How did it happen if the did not know each other well? A random fellow comes up to you and says, 'I wanna wear your skin.' You're going to say, 'Back away. Slowly.'"

"Not what he said." Stitch replied, skeptical.

Jak was not really listening. Why? Why do it? Midlife crisis? Did he not have a Keyblade after all? Terra was young, had a Keyblade, and that portrait may as well have been titled, _'picture of perfect health.'_ Xehanort may not have had a single motive. It might have been all of those reasons. He needed more time, a new identity, and a Keyblade, and maybe he was a little vain. So, maybe the question was not _Why Xehanort?_ But W_hy Terra?_

"What were Aqua and Ven like?"

"Aqua—maybe twenty? Blue haired... very pretty. Nice. Ven, sixteen, blonde, blue eyed. Nice."

"I guess you'd call Terra nice, too, right?"

"Bit gruff, but yeah. Like you."

That either meant he was a prime candidate to get possessed, or the voice had been wrong, he was suited for a Keyblade. He really hoped it was the latter—of course, Terra had a Keyblade, and he had also been possessed, so perhaps Keyblades were a little more trouble than they were worth? "Nothing different about Terra? Not that you could see?"

"No."

Was it just wrong place, wrong time?

"Xehanort obviously knew _something_ about Kairi we don't. Aerith might know—but I don't want to ask her. I wonder what it was. One question has been answered. It did not happen because of Ansem the Wise. Kairi went missing _outside_ the castle. Lea said Xehanort had something to do with her disappearance..."

Sora. Sora was not from Hollow Bastion. But he knew Kairi, "What if Lea had been wrong? What if Kairi's disappearance had not been an abduction? What if she had somehow managed to find her way through the darkness into another world?"

"A four-year-old child?"

"She's clearly special somehow—obviously no stranger to getting carted off. She was here last year."

Stitch tilted his head.

"A witch named Maleficent brought here here, then Sora came to get her back—Aerith did not say much more than that. She's..." Jak was only able to realize just how badly he had been swindled in hindsight, "She's sly. But what are the odds, that someone who had no clue she was _from_ here, hold her _hostage_ here? When you think about it, who else _but_ Xehanort would bring her here?"

Stitch narrowed his eyes and hummed thoughtfully. He did not say much else. He was a critter of few words. There was not much else to say, though—No one else. There was no such thing as coincidence. The _chance_ some big bad that had not known Kairi had set up shop in the empty shell of this world, then abducted her? Too small, and paled in comparison to the simpler explanation: It was Xehanort, and it was deliberate. Maybe Lea would have brought her here, but the reason not to was obvious. With Xehanort gone, and the heartless here, Destiny Islands was safest.

Was Xehanort gone?

Aerith had not said Maleficent was working with him—then again, it's not like she would know. She had told him she had only heard about it second hand, and Kairi was young, she might not have known Xehanort if she saw him—Sora would not, either, and he had never seen Xehanort before. Ten years was not enough time to die of old age—unless body-stealing proved temporary and he had not been able to fix it. _He_ had survived a world being lost to darkness. Kairi had survived it. _Lea_ had clearly survived it. Why _not_ Xehanort?

"If Terra was a Keyblade Wielder, and Xehanort _did_ take his body—Let's call this possible hybrid _Terranort_—Keyblade Wielders have never had a hard time going from world to world, right? So every action taken by Xehanort could be_ Terranort_. He just took the body because he needed more time, the ability to travel between worlds, for some plan that involved Kairi. At this point, I don't really _want_ to know what it is."

"Lea?"

That could have meant anything. Instead of asking what Stitch meant, he thought of every question it could be. Did he know? Did he have a hand in this? Was he working against it?

Keeping Kairi away from Hollow Bastion kept her out of Xehanort's eye, kept her out of the way. Xehanort may have completely forgotten about her, maybe he was gone, but neither one of those seemed likely. What was stopping him from jumping into another body? He could have left Terra's body at the moment of death, the moment the physical body could not carry on, entered Kairi, entered Sora, or... Wasn't there a third one? Jak tried to recall a name, it did not work. He could have jumped right into mystery third friend.

Kairi was not safe, either way.

There was a great noise like an air train pulling into the station. Jak could hear it clearly through the walls and ceiling above his head. Stitch looked up, tilted his head. Jak wondered who it was, then he assumed. Sora. He stopped working. This was it. The moment all of the answers came together. There were so many things to do. He had to get Sora to Kairi's Grandmother. She had told him everything he could and she deserved to know her granddaughter was okay, from Sora's own mouth. Sora needed to know he had a potential ally in Lea—even if he was one he sould be careful of. They had a shared interest—keeping Kairi safe.

Heartless.

More Heartless than Hollow Bastion was used too. What had happened? What had caused it? Nevermind. He had to stop it. "THU—_"_

Something very hard and key-shaped hit him in the cheek.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I didn't—Ah! Donald!"

"I got it!"

Jak, for the first time, did not actually have to do anything. The Heartless were intently focused on the Keyblade and seemed intent on throwing themselves against it. Jak had thought to himself that he could have made himself useful by watching Sora's six, being his heavy, stepping up on the off chance that his duties as Keybearer meant that he had to kill a person, not some creature of the abyss. But Sora's six was watched by a weird creature... kind of canine in nature, with a huge shield. And _his_ six was watched by a duck that could sling magic around with out batting an eye. Maybe Sora did not need him after all.

Where was his ticket out of here now?

Could he really just... sit back and do nothing?

Jak was not a sit back and do nothing type.

He looked around for Stitch. He was certain the alien had followed him—he saw him, climbing the wall, heading towards a bright red rocket, it must have been Sora's. The glass dome above the cockpit was open. Stitch climbed inside, and Jak wondered for a moment if this was the last he would ever see of him, if he would just steal the ship and fly away, leaving Sora stranded. He did not. He had good instincts, and was not too eager to place himself in unneeded danger. Flying off completely alone and leaving the universe's one hope for salvation stuck in one world was unneeded danger. Maybe he was going to hide away in their ship and fly off with out him.

Jak's thoughts were cut through with a sudden question. "Who are you?"

He turned. Sora grinned broadly. His eyes were very blue, and they almost closed all the way when he smiled, but he was totally focused on Jak. His brown hair was a mess. His knuckles were bleeding as he extended his hand. There was some old damage on all four—he had only learned how to throw a good punch recently.

"My name's Sora!"

He was... underwhelming.

He was young—Jak knew enough to just assume he was young—short (shorter than Jak was) and rail-thin. The baggy clothes did not help, black was very slimming. Jak had seen men come out of jail with more meat on their bones. He looked like he had emerged from a year-long coma a few days ago. That Keyblade he could sling around with no trouble at all was thicker than his arm. He needed to eat more. He need to try weightlifting. He looked like he could be snapped like a twig.

Jak realized Sora had been standing there grinning broadly with his reed-thin arm extended in friendship for much longer than a normal person would—the he realized Sora could probably not be considered 'normal'. Jak took his hand. There was surprising strength in his fingers. Perhaps he came from a race with more compact brawn—a little rougher, too. He grabbed Jak by the elbow, probably more of a custom, not really to check Jak for weapons.

"You've uh..." he tittered nervously, "Got a knife up your sleeve."

"Yes."

Must have slipped his mind.

"... 'kaaaaaay."

He had bright eyes, wide, they took in every detail, quickly darting over him, his ear, his eye, his elbow under his hand, fingertips against the edge of the concealed knife by his bicep, a chipper smile, and a happy-go-lucky tone that never left a voice that did not seem to realize that it had broken with in the past year. Everyone else must look at Sora and think, with out question, that he was going to be the one to save the world. Jak had his doubts. He looked at Sora and he saw a kid, full of hope and promise, an entire life ahead of him. He was layered, though—a cheerful shine, clearly kept buffed and polished, hiding just a tiny bit of sadness.

He was young. He was naive. He was innocent.

He had a chipped tooth.

"And..." Sora trailed off expectantly, he raised his eyebrows, "Who are you?"

"Jak." he answered.

The duck and dog... _thing_ came a little closer. The duck grabbed his arm. Jak noticed it was cut badly over the elbow and half way to his shoulder. Sora did not seem to notice. Jak knew he had been caught staring and he felt stupid. "You, uh... You came just in time."

"Really?" The only reaction to the duck's healing magic Sora gave was to try to tug his arm away once. The Duck snatched his wrist back, but did not tell him to hold still. Sora looked at him—Jak figured that one was Donald—with a frown that was not angry, or even really annoyed. He was just plain sick and tired of protesting when he treated every single minor injury without fail, but had not yet fully resigned himself to being babied. "Huh. My ship just few itself here." He pointed to the wall with his free hand. The bright red rocket sat there. Jak saw Stitch move down the wall again. He blended with the blue stone perfectly, he did not think Sora noticed him. "Did you summon us?"

_Merlin_ must have summoned Sora—probably to tell him that Kairi's Grandmother had been found. That _was _important. He was probably one of the only ones that could get the message to Kairi that she had been found safe. She was probably worried about the old woman. But the Heartless, drawn even to the potential of the Keyblade had arrived just a tad sooner, and Merlin had worn himself _finding_ Kairi's Grandmother.

"Nope."

"Then who..." His eyes flittered around questioningly, and they flittered right onto Merlin's open door. His jaw dropped. His face went white. "Oh no! Merlin!"

He tore himself from Jak's hand, scrambled back to the door, paused briefly at the threshold, his hands on the frame, the he rushed forward, nearly tripping on over his own, way to big shoes, "Merlin!_ Merlin!_"

Jak followed. From the way Sora carried on, Jak thought perhaps Merlin's final hour had passed. There were few signs of a struggle in side, and Sora shook him too much for Jak to see if he was still breathing. He took Merlin's wrist in his hand. He still had a pulse.

"Come on, he's just fainted." He gave Merlin a sound slap. Sora yelped in protest.

Merlin blinked, his eyes focused on Sora and his entourage, standing behind him.

"W-well now." he cleared his throat, picked himself up. Jak did not appreciate being blown off. "Took your time, did you?"

It was the dog that asked, "Was it you who summoned us Merlin?"

"Yes, yes. But it seems I used too much power in doing so and those infernal heartless... oooh!" He cringed, held a hand to his chest, and Sora jumped, hands instinctively reaching out to help him. Merlin waved him away.

"So..." Sora sounded concerned. "What's up?"

"Well" Merlin gave a shallow cough, "I—I—I I happened to stumble across this in the zero district."

There was a puff of smoke and sparkles above Merlin's open hand. It was more for showmanship than anything. Jak saw the book vanish from its place in the pile. Merlin was just too damn lazy to get it himself. He looked at Merlin's hand and saw the same kid's book Merlin had just tried to pawn off on him a few hours ago. He handed it to the duck, Sora leaned over to examine it curiously. Jak shook his head and rolled his eyes. Sora was innocent, maybe a little stupid, but he was not—

Ecstatic. He was jumping with excitement. "Pooh's story book!"

"That's right. I know you're a good friend of Winnie the Pooh, Sora, that's why I summoned you. And when I did I was attacked by the Heartless—"

Jak could not believe this. He was beyond anger—he was gaping in pure disbelief. "You accidentally summoned a horde of Heartless, and made Sora take time out of his quest _for a children's book!?"_

There was an awkward pause. Sora looked at Jak, opened his mouth to say something in Merlin's defense, but then he reconsidered and said nothing, biting his lip, looking at Merlin and nodding. He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels, expecting a deeper explanation. If Merlin had done it because he had needed to tell him something that was actually important, or if he had just wanted to get Jak out of Hollow Bastion faster, he could understand—but a kid's book? Really?

"Well, I—I—now just a moment, Leon and the others need to hear this, too. I-I I'd better go find them. Be back in a jiffie."

Out cold for two minutes and he was back to full power? He could not have taken a nap and summoned Sora _later?_ He poofed away in a cloud of smoke and shimmers, leaving the five of them in the room, but Stitch was above their common woes, back in the rafters. Donald held the book. The dog scratched his head and Jak wondered what his name was. He figured Sora would say something about leaving, getting back to their quest, maybe ask Jak if he wanted to tag along, or make sure there was nothing _actually important_ to take care of while they were there, but instead he asked, "I wonder how Pooh's doing?"

… What?

"Wanna go find out?"

"Yeah!" Sora beamed. Donald opened the book, held it up, as Sora took a stance, sturdy, braced, like he was about to literally dive into literature, or tackle it to the ground. Jak considered the possibility that Sora was not only not normal—_he was a complete headcase_.

"Sora!" The dog protested.

Sora turned to him quickly, "Cover for us, okay?"

Jak did not like the sound of that word, "... _Us_?"

Sora fixed him with that bright, excited smile, but there was a kind of desperate, pleading look in his wide open eyes. His eyes darted to the book and seemed to say _please I haven't had a meaningful conversation with anyone my own age in DECADES. _Jak looked at the open book. It was a map of little pop-up wooded places. Clearly not made by a professional cartographer. He groaned, just a little bit, but it was more of a pained sigh.

He knew he should get in good with Sora—he was not actually needed, so if he was going to be invited to join his posse he was going to need to play by his rules. If Sora wanted a moment away from the Smother Duck he could certainly _have one,_ but did he have to drag _him_ a long for the ride? How long had it _really been _since he had another teenager to talk too? Jak did not want to know the answer because he was almost positive...

Wait…_ When_ did they get to a forest?

* * *

1\. Jak is using that pummel pipe diy from Zombease.

2\. Yes I HAVE considered _Heartless Robot Erol _for a secret boss.


	17. Chapter 16

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

* * *

Chapter sixteen:

"This place hasn't changed a bit!"

Jak was standing in the middle of the pretty grove that served as the entrance to the Hundred Acre Wood, staring at the light that would take him back, if he only stepped into it. He did not seem to realize that, though. The only part of him that was really moving was his mouth, and Sora had _never_ heard so many bad words strung together before. He had been right to try to get him away from Donald and Goofy. They would have fainted by this point—surely their ears were burning even outside the book? Such _language!_ Sora was not sure of what to do. What did _other_ people do? Wait? Ignore it? Complement him on his creativity and prowess of spoken word?

Sora took a deep breath, turned away from him, planted his fists on his hips triumphantly, he said loudly, trying to get Jak's attention and drown him out, "Just smell that air! You'd swear it was a real forest!"

"What do you _mean _its not a real fucking forest?"

Sora turned his head back to look Jak over again, from his long hair, to his long ears, to his long arms, and gave him the biggest smile he could. Jak looked like he was starved to the bone for big smiles. "It's fine!"

Jak visibly cringed. A strange thing, he threw his whole body into it, shoulders going back, hands pulling in sharply, feet stepping away, "On what level is this _fine!?"_ he demanded.

"No Heartless." Sora stared to count on his fingers, kept his voice chipper. Counting the positives in any situation came easy to him. "No Nobodies. No worrying about evil plans. _Privacy,_ that's a big one. Besides—"

"Okay." Jak calmed down, waved him off, "Fine. I get it. Why drag me along?"

"I wanted to talk."

"Well, that's good." Jak walked towards him quickly, full of purpose. "I have a few questions for you."

Sora smiled, but this time, he did not really mean it. He did not go to the Hundred Acre Wood to talk business. He wanted to ask the questions. He wanted know who Jak was, what he liked, who his friends were, what his world had been like. He had missed seeing it, he had failed to save it from the Heartless, but in his defense, he had not even known it was there, so he could forgive himself for that—and he had every intention of seeing it _restored_.

Jak stopped almost as quickly as he had stared walking. He was a good two arm's lengths away from him. Close enough to hear, but not close as Sora liked people to be to him. Jak was clearly not sure how to act. Sora could tell, Jak had been banking on him to get him out of Hollow Bastion, but now that he was here he was reluctant to open up to him. Sora would love to get him out. He need someone to talk to. Donald and Goofy were there for him, one hundred percent, just like they needed to be. Just like it said in the job description. They healed every wound, spotted everything he missed, watched his back when he did not even think his back needed watching, they gave him the best council he could ask for, but they _were not _fifteen.

Sure, they had _been_ fifteen. But they were fifteen in _hindsight. _Sora needed someone fifteen in the here and now. Someone constant.

He needed Riku.

He did not _have_ Riku.

But Jak looked like he needed Sora just as much as Sora needed him.

Jak scanned the woods, which were plenty spacious and webbed with foot paths and, honestly, mostly grass, like there was someone who could hear or attack them. Nervous habit? Did he not believe he was ever truly safe? Did he see something? Jak fidgeted a little, folded his arms and drummed his fingers on his hidden knife, did not meet Sora's eyes. It just made him look grumpy and shy.

Or maybe he was grumpy and shy.

Still, Sora liked to look people in the eye when he spoke to them. He liked them to stand straight, look like the were proud of themselves—and Jak had survived the darkness, the darkness between the worlds, his own, personal darkness. He should be proud of himself—but Sora did not think he really _was _proud of himself. It was like his entire life was spent preparing for an important moment, training himself, physically and mentally for it, but when that moment finally arrived, he dropped the ball.

Jak's posture changed. Less intimidating. He straightened up, remembering that they were friends—Sora hoped they could be friends—his expression softened, but he did not smile. He did not waste time, either. "Was Maleficent working alone?"

Sora stopped smiling. He did not want to talk about Maleficent, not really. He started walking, but Jak was just as capable of waking as he was, and Sora knew he needed to answer the question. And he needed to tell the truth. No one ever wanted a lie for an answer. He wondered how Jak had found out about Maleficent, he wanted to ask if he had seen her, but he knew he should answer his question first. He looked up at the sky, a solid blue, with its un-moving, paper-cutout clouds and it's yellow sun that did not emit any light at all, and recalled his first adventure, "Let's see, there was Hades, Captain Hook, Ursula the Sea Witch... and, ah, Oogie Boogie."

"Was there a man named Xehanort?"

"Xehanort?" As he walked, Sora tested the name. On some level, it _did_ sound like a name he had heard before. He said it again, slowly, drumming his fingers against his thumb as he tested it, like he could grab a hold of it and pull it out on the tangled chain of memories, going all the way back to the deepest rings from when he was too young to remember anything. "Xehanort... Xehanort..." Had anyone said it? Had he read it anywhere? He could not recall. "No. I've never heard that name before."

"You positive?"

"Yes. I'm certain."

Jak narrowed his eyes, like he was about to accuse Sora of lying. He did not do it directly, instead, he insisted, "That can't be. You must have seen him. You have to have seen him."

"Nope."

"Silver hair?" he demanded. "Dark skin? Gold eyes?"

_That_ was a familiar description. Sora dropped his fist into the palm of his hand, "_Ansem_!"

"Wha..? N-no..." Jak furrowed his brow, his mouth stuck on that word, _no. _He swept his hand back, trying to indicate Merlin's house and the city beyond it, "No. Ansem the Wise—"

"No, he's Ansem Seeker of Darkness."

"No!" Jak replied sharply.

Sora tilted his head and said nothing. It was time to listen. Jak's voice was level, his face set, Sora saw lines forming, like he was trying to look much older than he really was, trying to look like he had some authority—he was very good at it. Sora almost believed he was not quite seventeen. It was something about the eyes. They looked old. Sad. He was determined, "No. That's not right."

"He kidnapped Kairi and plunged my world into darkness." Sora had to admit, he was a little flustered at this point, but he kept it to himself. Jak was just uninformed and trying to help. "He possessed my _best friend _and stole his body. I think I'd know his name."

"I don't know the names of..." Jak shook his head, what ever he was going to say, he decided it was not important, or that it was better left unsaid. "_That's Xehanort! _That is exactly what Xehanort _does._ He possesses people and steals their bodies. I need to know _why._" Jak turned around and started walking away. Sora inwardly groaned. He did not want to talk about weather it was Ansem or Xehanort or what ever his name was. He was _dead,_ and the Hundred Acre Wood was a happy, safe place and no villian's name should be uttered there. It was a sanctuary.

Jak kept pacing on the trail. He took exactly eight steps, turned sharply, strode back towards him, "What was Riku like?" he turned sharply, again, and took another eight steps so quickly Sora did not have time to answer before he turned around so quickly his ears moved behind him like whips, "What made him an easy target for Xehanort?"

"Ansem." Sora corrected gently. He gave Jak a tug by his knife elbow and started walking down the trail again instead of letting him go back and forth.

Jak shook his hand off, but did keep going forward, "No, it's Xehanort. Aerith said—"

"Aerith must have been mistaken."

It sounded to Sora like Jak thought the two words should never be uttered in the same breath. "Aerith _can't_ have been mistaken!"

"Look, if you tell me your name's Jak and Aerith tells me your name is Bill, I'm going to believe _you_ because you'd know your own name better than someone else. Aerith may say he's named Xehanort, but _he_ said he was Ansem, and _why_ would he lie about his own name?"

Jak looked confused, conflicted, but he was not going to give up. It might be impossible to get Jak to give up. "Aerith grew up here—there—and she said Ansem was the Mayor—that implies he's older, the one I call Xehanort, the one you call Ansem, they're not much older than twenty eight or so, right? Ansem—Ansem the Wise must have been at least forty—he'd be fifty now. She said he wasn't evil—she said all of the problems were his security men, and they could have been bought off by his apprentices, but even then, that's just rumor."

He sounded so sure of it, he must have something convincing him of it. Sora frowned, held his chin, and envied Jak's goatee for a while. It was kind of a trivial thought, but maybe if he managed to get a little facial hair going, Donald and Goofy would treat him like more of an adult.

Bigger picture. Jak _had_ a point. Aerith would know a heck of a lot more about Hollow Bastion's history than he did. He had not thought of the world it had been before Maleficent got a hold of it. He had read Ansem's reports, but even then, he had not actually thought that Ansem was a man that had lived in Hollow Bastion when it had been _fuller_ when it had not had such a dreary name, but something bright, full of potential like Destiny Islands, or peaceful and quaint like Twilight Town. Jak had a point, but that did not _explain_ anything. Why would he lie about his name?

Besides, Ansem, Seeker of Darkness being someone _other_ than Ansem, Seeker of Darkness raised more questions. Questions Sora did not want to know the answers to, even if Jak was right—_especially_ if Jak was right. He did not like complicated things. He liked things simple and clear-cut. He liked good and evil, he liked right and wrong, so he tried to deflect it, just to avoid thinking about it. "You can be a mayor in your early twenties—maybe he's thirty two and just looks young?"

Jak was not going to swallow that pill, "He possessed your best friend—you really think he's above lying?"

"But why would he?"

Jak frowned, looked at the dirt as it was crunched under his boots. Sora did not want to know how those old bloodstains got there. "I don't know—Xehanort was the apprentice, Ansem was the master, maybe he was banking on the name's credibility?"

"Why does it matter, Jak? He's _dead _now."

Jak frowned a little deeper, "Are you _sure_?"

"Yes. Definitely. He vanished in the light behind the door to the realm of darkness."

"The realm of darkness?"

"Yep."

"There was _light_ inside the realm of _darkness_?"

Jak asked the _real_ questions. Nothing got past him.

"Yes."

Jak's face twisted up in that mix of feeling again, and Sora decided it would just be called _the face_ from now on, because he could begin to fathom what he was thinking when he made it. Either that Sora was unbelievable stupid or completely insane. Sora, for his part, did not want to know if Jak had a negative opinion of him. Jak shook his head, let it go, and reached behind his shoulder, like he was expecting something to be there, "I have a... I thought I had photographs."

"Well, they're back outside."

"What?"

"This is kind of like... lucid dreaming? I guess? Our bodies are back on the floor at Merlin's place. It's just us and our clothes in here."

"Great."

Sora strongly suspected he did not mean that. Jak fell silent, searching his memory for something else to say, or maybe he had it already, he was just trying to find the most delicate way to say it, the easiest way to break some shocking news to him. Sora jumped on that pause. He did not want to talk about Ansem or Xehanort and what ever his name _really_ was. Ansem by any other name would still be _just as dead_ and Sora wanted to know about _Jak_. "Why don't you tell me about your world?"

"Because my world_ sucked_ and you don't need to hear about it."

So _that's _what brick walls felt like when you ran into them.

"Okaaaay... But there must have been _something_ nice about it? You obviously had something worth fighting for, how else could you have made it through the darkness?"

Sora tilted his head and never once took his eyes of Jak. There was nothing to trip on in the Hundred Acre Wood. There never would be. Jak kept his eyes dead ahead and refused to meet Sora's gaze. Maybe it _was_ possible to someone to hate their world so much they were actually kind of happy when the Heartless came and jumped into the darkness willingly, thinking it was just an easy escape. Sora did not want to believe that—he thought about Riku, and he felt a little sad, a little scared; what had it been about their world that he had hated so much? What little detail had Sora missed? What could he have made better? What if it was him? What if Riku had hated _him_?

He focused on Jak, "So you didn't have anything?"

"I did." Jak's grim _please believe I'm older than twenty_ expression faded. He looked Sora over, "I had friends. Some were a little better than others, but..."

Jak's mouth threatened to break into a smile. Just a little ghost pulled back the corner of his mouth, and so quick Sora would have missed it if he blinked, he saw a flash of teeth, an odd scar in his gum, like it had been split open. Sora thought he was not smiling because he was certain his friends were gone forever. He wanted to see him smile.

"He's not dead, you know. Just lost—I promise."

"I know." Jak let himself smile this time. Natural, easy, but he did not show his teeth. Maybe he did not want Sora to see the scar and ask about it. Maybe where he came from, that was considered rude, smiling with teeth. Sora had never been to a place like that. But he had spent, like, _two days_ with a shark tail once. Literally nothing was off the table at this point.

"He must have been the chipper one."

"No. He was the... talking one." Jak stayed guarded. He was trying to avoid telling him something. Sora wondered what it was. He knew better than to ask about bad memories.

"You said friends, plural—What about the others?"

Jak went back to not meeting his eyes. He took a sudden, keen interest in the trees to his left, and asked "Have you run into a girl named Tess, yet? I saw her with a Keyblade."

Sora was thrilled. Another Key Bearer! Someone else to fight the Heartless along side him! "Tess? No. I haven't seen her yet—but if the Keyblade chose her, she's bound to be out there! I got mine the same way. It's got a bad habit of throwing you right into the fray."

"You think it was a fair trade?"

"Well, home came back."

"But when did you last _see it_?"

It was like straight answers were something he had to resort to blows to get, and he hated resorting to blows. It was getting a little too intense. Sora hated to admit it, but he figured lying to Jak would not accomplish anything. He looked like had gotten very good at sniffing out lies. Add to that, he was not entirely _sure_. He had just woken up a few weeks ago, in a strange place, with a single note _Thank Namine_. The only indication that any length of time had passed was his clothes were smaller. He was about five, maybe six inches taller, and his voice was deeper. Then he noticed there were stretch marks _everywhere _and no matter how much he ate he was constantly hungry, and when he was not hungry he was tired and...

He gave Jak his best guess, "'Bout a year? Maybe"

"You don't even _know!?_"

"Not really—but I'll see it again someday."

Sora found it difficult to read Jak's face. He looked disbelieving, he looked a little angry, he looked a little... sympathetic. Sora wanted to ask. Sora was dying to ask. He had made no promise _not _to ask, and so the question was tempting him, resting on the tip of his tongue, ready to dive off. But at the same time, Sora got the feeling that Jak regarded him a bit like glass, or that if he said one word too much he would be labeled as a monster, cast from his sight and the only hope he had of getting out of Hollow Bastion and finding Daxter, Tess, and any other friends he had would be lost completely.

Jak licked his lips. He was weighting his options, considering how he would react to certain pieces of information. He was quiet for a long time, and Sora itched. If it made Jak uncomfortable, if he was not sure if he should share it or not, it should probably be left as it was. Sora _wanted _to leave it be.

He motioned for Jak to come along. He would probably loosen up a little bit when he met Pooh. He was pretty hard _not_ to like. He was a stuffed bear, for crying out loud.

It really _was_ impossible to get Jak to give up. "Look, we need to head back. There is someone you have to talk to about all of this."

"But we're almost there."

"_Almost there!?"_ Jak echoed so fast Sora actually jumped. He turned around, and Jak was staring at him in pure disbelief, "Sora, I'm standing here telling you Xehanort or Ansem—a guy with white hair by any other name that kidnapped Kairi might be a bigger problem than you thought and... You want to go do _what_, exactly?"

_Kidnapped Kairi_. Two words that made him more than a little uneasy. He started walking a little faster, now he _really_ needed Pooh. It was all fun and games in the Hundred Acre Woods. No bad guys. No friends in mortal peril. No Heartless trying to rip him apart to smash him to a pulp. Nothing to remind him about the bad things he had to deal with. "I come here to blow off steam."

He did not want to look scared and weak. He was the Keyblade's Chosen One. He was not scared. He was not weak. "I come here to see Pooh Bear and we're a hop, skip, and a jump away. It'll take thirty minutes, tops. We've got time."

Jak tilted his head in disbelief, "You're... It's like you're not even curious."

"I am. I just want to see Pooh."

Jak shook his head and looked at him like he would a very, very young child and Sora feared he was about to lose the closest thing he had made to a genuine peer in a while, some one who knew what losing a home to the Heartless was like, losing friends to the darkness.

Jak looked _concerned_ now. He glanced back to the clearing, which was quite far now, looked back at Sora and begrudgingly resigned, "Okay. Lead the way... You can go as long as you _never _measure distances like that again."

When he said _lead the way_ he meant it. He did not move until Sora was five paces a head of him again, and Sora wondered why. Did he think he was crazy? He probably did. Sora tried to not let it bother him. Pooh would cheer him up. His little hollow-tree house was insight now, and Pooh, the silly old bear, sat on a felled, hollow log, his nubby hand to his forehead, deep in thought. Sora felt lighter when he saw him. He could not help but smile.

When Pooh noticed him, he perked up, smiled, and said lightly, "Oh!"

"Hey pooh bear, how ya doing? finding enough honey lately?"

"Oh yes, in fact I was just about to do my stoutness exercises. Would you like to join me, Sora?"

"Sure, I'm game."

From behind him, Jak muttered a single, punctuated, "Fuck."

* * *

Jak honestly can't go with Sora for the simple reason that he would yell at him too much.

_You're delaying your quest for ANOTHER mini-game in that damn book are you fucking shitting me!?_

_A MUSICAL!? Fuck's wrong with you!? You're putting the fate of the universe on the back burner for a musical? SORA YOU CAN'T EVEN SING. _

_I'M JOINING MALEFICENT, SORA._

_I'M CROSSING OVER TO THE DARKSIDE._

_I'M GOING TO LET XEHANORT POSSESS ME, SORA._


	18. Chapter 17

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

I'm so glad I managed to get this up today. Internet is super splotchy.

* * *

Chapter seventeen:

Stakeouts were boring.

Daxter reclined in Axel's hood. That tree-branch shoulder of his was too uncomfortable. It was broad enough, sure, but it was all clavicle, like standing on a power line_;_ Unstable, terrible for the arches. If Daxter stood straight, he lost balance too easy, if he hunched over he was tied in a knot because there was no other place to put his hands besides between his feet, so he spine ached after a minute. The material of Axel's coat was slick, lacked a proper hand-hold, so if he held himself up by his arms, he was constantly slipping towards the ground, and it was a _long way down _from Axel's shoulder.

So he stared at the sky, let Axel be the eyes on the ground—and nothing had happened. There was red rocket on the wall, which indicated the key-blade slinging, Roxas-housing Sora was running around somewhere. According to Axel, he was most likely in Merlin's house. So that's where they were. Merlin's roof. Daxter yawned. Nothing was happening. There were a few scorch marks, some cracks in the pavement, indications of a struggle they must have missed by a hair because Axel had been hovering around, unnoticed, and pretending not to really care while Nana was being settled into her house by some refugee housing committee.

Daxter had not been paying attention as much as Axel.

The entire detour would have been good if it had yielded some information about the sudden drop in heartless with out a Keyblade to keep them in check—nothing had turned up. Daxter was beginning to suspect that this was busy work, something to keep Axel occupied and out of the way. The Heartless population might even be fine and healthy.

Axel might suspect that, too. His feathers were ruffled. Daxter tried to recall a time his feathers had been _un_ruffled. None were coming up.

He was bored.

A bored Daxter was a chatty Daxter.

A chatty Daxter was a Daxter that would tell Axel Saix asked him to spy on him.

Which would just make for a _more_ ruffled Axel.

Daxter suspected he got real quiet when he was mad. He had never been sure how to deal with mad quiet people. Jak got _loud_ when he was pissed, and always let Daxter know the exact reason. Jak suffered from a hair-trigger temper and crippling honesty. Axel suffered from repressed anger and... an adamant denial that he could even _feel_ anger. He wished he had a ball to toss up, a yo-yo to fiddle with. Jak may have gotten the shit jobs, but at least he got the _exciting_ shit jobs. You would think a fire-slinging, red-headed skeleton would get into a little more trouble. He did not. He was really, really good at not being seen when no one was searching for him. Maybe it was the cloak, as hard for the eyes to see as it was for the hands to grab, slipped past them like water.

Daxter toyed with the only thing he could: Axel himself. He asked the first thing that came to mind, "You didn't have a goatee when you were, about, um... dunno, late teens, maybe?"

Axel was hardly listening, "No..." then, "Wait, what? Where did that come from?"

"No where." Daxter shrugged. Axel rolled his eyes, just a bit, "Just trying to get to know you. Your crazy teenage years growing up with a bunch of heartless Nobodies. I mean, it'd seem like a bad idea—constantly playing with fire and all. You must have kept losing it—you hardly have eyebrows."

Axel's head swiveled around to frown at him. Daxter chuckled and wiggled his toes, brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his knee. These cloaks were terrible about attracting heat. Axel seemed immune to heat. Maybe cold, too. He had not even broken a sweat and he bad practically been standing waist-deep in fire. Maybe that was a common things for nobodies. Daxter wanted to shed it. His fur ensured there was a layer of heat trapped below the fabric, which was hardly breathable to begin with. The sun made sure there was a layer _outside it_ too.

He had endured hotter while keeping his cool, though. "Nah, no way you did. You'd have horrible scarring on you chin if you had. Forget I asked. Never get one. It wouldn't suit you."

Axel went back to not really paying attention, "Okay."

"You could go full beard." he smirked. "No one would _ever_ recognize you again."

He would look stupid. _Unbelievably_ stupid. Daxter wanted to see it before he died. Bucket list item number 26: Axel with a full beard. He tried to think about Axel with one of the the typical, curly beards he had seen so many times before, like on Osmo, or Praxis, on Xaldin, but he could only think of Axel with a beard not unlike his normal hair. Spiky and too red to be natural, "Or are you ashamed to do that because your hair is dyed? Hey, don't be ashamed. Jak rocked the drapes don't match the doormat look."

He was listening again, "... What?"

"You know," Daxter started pointing with his tail. "carpet and drapes..." he prodded his chin with it, "doormat."

Axel groaned, "Why are you doing this?"

"Come on, ask me what ever you like."

Axel shook his head—but he must have questions that were more interesting than waiting for Heartless to spontaneously appear. He did not ask anything, and Daxter felt the dull trudge of boredom creep up on him again. He had to focus on something else. It was the good thing about having a brain the size of an egg—distraction came easy. He asked, "So, ah, why'd you get the tats? Any reason, or did Xemnas just tell you you couldn't get them?"

"What?"

Daxter just let the questions flow, "Did not having a heart for puberty make the need for rebellion and independence _worse_ or did it make it better? What was the crazy story behind wrecking that van by the tower? There had to be one. Sure hope it's long."

Axel shook his head again. Daxter felt a nearly uncontrollable urge to bat at the tips of his hair. "I don't remember. No. Saix wanted to learn to drive."

"And you just... _found_ an eighteen wheeler?"

"Yeah."

Daxter wanted to press him for details, but it would not do a darn thing if he did. Axel was not much for conversation now. He was like a pre-paid phone and Nana had wasted all his minutes. Daxter wailed dramatically, spilled out of his hood, nearly choking him with his weight, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead, "Boooooored!"

"Fine!" Axel grumbled. He reached back and tugged him back up, "Just stop trying to strangle me!—Every world the Heartless have even looked at, Organization XIII knows. We're constantly monitoring their movements, but they just seemed to spontaneously go after your world. No prompting, no preliminary hits. Why?"

"How should I know?"

"You _said_ to ask something."

Daxter sighed, not nearly as dramatic this time.

"What happened?" Axel asked, "Before? Immediately before?"

"I had a strange dream. So did..." He considered telling him that Tess had one as well, and had gotten a Keyblade for her trouble—then he considered just how valuable the Keyblade was to Organization XIII, considered Roxas. He left that part out, "Jak. There was a stain glass pillar—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Axel waved his hand, "_You_ had a dive into the heart?"

"Is that what that's called?"

"That's something Keyblade bearers—or even potential Keyblade bearers get. If you had one, you'd have a Keyblade, right?"

Daxter waved an empty hand. "No Keyblade here."

"Does that mean you _failed?" _Axel's mind was clearly boggled, "How do you _fail_ to look into your own heart?"

There was a funny story to that. "Well, I think I got pretty far, as far as dreaming goes, I got past a stain glass pillar with Tess on it, and another with Jak and Keira, I went through a door, gosh there were so many hoops to jump through to get it open, I'm not a trained Osstel."

Axel was curious again. A curious Axel was a talking Axel. A talking Axel was an Axel Daxter was not going to tell Saix about. "Get to the point, here."

"Right, so, I got to the underground HQ, but some details were off, you know how dreams are, and in my dream Tess asked me what I was most afraid of and I said... I don't remember, but then dream _Jak_ asked me what I wanted out of life and I answered 'Gee, Jak, you know that already, to swim with the largest harem of women the world had ever seen in a pool of mint chocolate.'"

Daxter could not see Axel's face, but he was pretty sure his expression was between blank and vague.

"Then wouldn't you know, dream Tess got super pissed at me, and I woke up."

"You—You?..." Axel's voice got very quiet again, he remembered they were supposed to be hiding, "Of all the things you could want, you want _that?!_"

"What?"

Clearly, being a heartless Nobody made Axel forget what was _really_ important in life, "You'd ruin the chocolate!"

"That's not the point—the point is pure decadence. I've got chocolate to waste."

"You'd ruin your fur!"

Daxter would admit he had not considered that—but he _had_ considered that he would never have a pool of slightly minty milk chocolate, or a large harem of women, in the first place, so the fur was a moot point. He insisted, "But _women_."

"Yes, yes, I get your point but you're fifteen shouldn't you just want _video games_ or something!?"

_"__Seventeen."_

Axel did not believe him, and he was dead set on picking Daxter's happy, silly fantasy apart. He sounded more confused than anything. Confused and clueless. Must have been a late bloomer. "Do you have any idea how hot molten chocolate even _is?"_

"Explain chocolate syrup then, wise guy? Besides... wouldn't you?"

Axel shook his head, pressed his hand against his forehead and rubbed his temples, and did not answer. Leaving Daxter to wonder if he was into girls or gents. He supposed with out a heart, romantic attraction was not really a thing he concerned himself with... course, there was always purely physical attraction, too, but Axel seemed convinced he was a kid (a lot of people were) and so that was going to be taken and stuffed in the very, _very_ bottom of the need-to-know bin.

And then the bin would be set on fire.

Daxter thought about all of the other, equally stupid questions he could ask. He wanted to take a nap, but he might miss something, or fall off if Axel moved to quickly, so he just declared, "Ask me something."

Axel jerked suddenly, made a quiet huff of shock, and dropped down a hair, kicking a shingle loose, but no one aside from them heard it. Daxter yelped, twisted, and brushed away Axel's hair to get a clearer view, supporting himself on Axel's boney shoulder. There were some Heartless, a duck wearing blue, a dog with a shield, Daxter assumed they were Sora's sworn companions, but they were not the cause of the loss of Heartless. They need to learn what _was._

"Sora! Hurry up!"

Something distracting caught Daxter's eye, and for once, it was a damn good thing. A little ball of light zipped around, made a beeline for a Heartless and _pop_ it sent it flying upwards with a little beam of light, like a candle frame the very _moment_ the match touched the wick, or sugar chewed in the dark. A camera flash. It sailed about ten feet upwards, fell flat on its back, where it was crushed under a metal and bloodstained boot.

Daxter's fur stood on end. His heart began to pound. His claws clamped down hard on Axel's shoulder and he dropped, pressed himself close to the black fabric as he shook and breathed heavily. He wanted to scream. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry, and he could not help but let it slip out, a shaky little whisper, _"Jak."_

Daxter wished that that exact moment froze, that some freak wormhole ripped them both away so Axel did not have to witness what he saw next. Daxter did not see it. Daxter just heard it. He heard a crackling like electricity, something snap, and that something must have been a cartridge of eco used for peacemaker charges because Daxter could smell it all the way from the roof. It smelled like burning tar and hair and it made him want to vomit. Then he heard Jak grunt in pain, then roar. Axel gasped, his free hand clamping to his mouth as he stifled a curse and Sora let out a low, guttural cry.

Daxter hissed, "Get me out of here."

"Dax—" he sounded a little less shocked than Daxter would have liked, but that... That did not matter.

This changed things. This changed everything. He had thought Jak had just been swallowed up with everything else, and he was asleep, kept in the cold storage of the universe. A lot of things changed now that Jak was an active player—a lot of things changed now that _Axel_ had seen what he was capable of. He was a threat, a threat they would be interested in taking out, maybe bringing into the fold.

He was terrified. Why was he terrified? He knew he could trust Axel. He had nothing to worry about. He was not going to knock off Jak just to keep him around. He was heartless, and did bad things because he had too—he was not callous, and did bad things because he wanted too. But his allegiance _was_ with Organization XIII, right? He would feel compelled to tell them, and even if he kept quiet about it, they would know soon enough. Jak would not just sit around for long. He would start to ask questions, try to figure out what was going on. He was a hero—it was what he did. He would probably get it all wrong, but he would find out about the Organization, he would would start to try and look for them. He would probably find them—find _him_ on that road. And that was a good thing. But he was terrified.

He hissed, "Do you have any idea how good his hearing is? Get me out of here."

They were out before the sentence was done. The doorway opened below them, swallowing them up so that they were laying on their stomachs in the betwixt before they passed through it. Daxter jumped from his shoulder, ran a few paces, but then he heard waves and felt warm sand between his toes and he opened his eyes. He saw a few trees heavy with star-shaped fruits and coconuts, and hidden away inside them was a small hut, only large enough for one, a foggy-glass greenhouse, a rain barrel. There was a stream running out to the sea. It might have been the coolness of the day. It might have been a hot spring, but Daxter clearly saw it steaming through the trees. He was getting sand worked between his toes and under his gloves. It would be there for days. He stopped, stared out at the sea. The damage was done, though. Axel was going to ask. Everyone asked. Once they saw what Dark Eco did, they asked a slew of very predictable questions, something along the lines of "What the fuck? _What the fuck? _What the fuck!?"

But Axel asked an entirely different question, "Are you mad at me?"

Daxter turned around. He was sitting cross-legged in the sand, elbows on his knees, hands falling on his ankles, his eyes focused on Daxter.

"Why would I be mad?"

"There were better choices I could have made when I took you to Xemnas. I... I could have hidden you here, but I... Hell. Nevermind. Listen to me. Defectors are not taken lightly—they'll hunt you down. They'll find _Jak_ on the road to you. They'll try to turn him into a heartless so they can get a hold of his Nobody."

"And if they find him anyway? They'll send _me_ to try and turn him into a Heartless."

"They won't find him. So far, I'm the only one that knows. We just have to volunteer for every mission there and hope he never gets a chance to leave."

"But he _will._ Axel, they might even kill me to do it."

"I won't let them kill you. I'd never let them do that—but" his tone was guarded, "If you want to go back to him, I won't stop you."

_Yes._ It was the first thought in his head, a reaction from his belly to his bran—but then he reconsidered. If he left, would Axel be held responsible for it? He could be turned into a Dusk. What could they do to him if they caught up with him? He had already failed to be turned into a Heartless and Nobody, what was left but to kill him, or to try to force his heart out—but what would a little Nobody Ottsel accomplish?

If they wanted to push Jak into darkness, further into darkness than the Baron and Erol had ever sent him, _killing him_ would be the best option.

"Saix asked me to spy on you."

"Is that meant to make me mad?"

He looked a little mad, Daxter shook his head, "No. I want you to know. Jak..." he thought about it, made sure what he was going to say matched up with what he really believed, then he nodded, "Can live with out me for a while. He's done it before—he can do it again. I stuck with Jak through some pretty serious shit. These people clearly don't like you—but you stuck your neck out for me and I'll never leave you dangling in the wind. You said something was up—I think you're right. When Saix spoke to me, he said something else. He said I was the fifteenth member."

"Why are you bringing this up now?"

Mostly because he wanted Axel to try a little harder to keep him around—Daxter got the feeling he _wanted_ him to go. It might be easier if he did—but it was not what was best. He was needed here. Jak was alright with out him. He did not want to ride with someone with zero sense of self-preservation. Then again, with Roxas gone and faced with the possibility of _him_ leaving too, Axel had no _reason_ to preserve himself, and he was just too dead set on being a tragic loner to admit that.

"You can't find the answers if you get turned into a Dusk."

Axel's face smoothed over, he glanced towards the trees. Daxter glanced, too. There was a little hut there, hidden. It was hardly there at all. "I remember a time when Saix was a decent kid. Maybe its time I let those memories go."

Axel could not mean that. Daxter remembered a time Jak was a decent kid, too—it would destroy him to lose those memories.

"There was not a fourteenth member." Axel shook his head, "I'd remember something big like that. Organization thirteen has always been just that. Thirteen. Until you came along."

Axel had a point. People did not just vanish with out a trace. That was impossible. Even for a universe with worlds swallowed up by darkness regularly. Little things were left behind, little reminders, things that could turn up months, years later, after all of the evidence of their existence was burned away. Someone remembered them. Someone always remembered them.

"You're right." Daxter agreed, but he did not really think so. Maybe it was because he _knew_ what it was like to forget a friend, no trace, just a little nagging, like a puzzle kept on the shelf when everyone knew a piece was missing, and _he knew_ how it felt when you looked up one day and then suddenly, _bam!_ Your best friend has been rotting away in prison for two years because you forgot them. You forgot they needed you to help. You forgot you promised to help. Because your brain is the size of an egg and you _forget_ things.

It hurt.

When Axel remembered—if he ever remembered—it was going to hurt like hell. Part of Daxter hoped Axel never remembered, just to spare him that pain and anger and shame, even if he swore he could not feel it, but for that friend's sake, he knew it had to happen. There was no way around it.

Axel's eyes flicked back to the cottage, "You're sure you want to stay? With me?"

"Yes. It's in my best interest not to betray you. You wouldn't feel bad about doing it—"

"Hey!" Axel's eyes snapped back to him and he looked genuinely offended.

"But _I would_. I can protect Jak better if I act the part and _pretend_ to try. You can help me with that."

"You don't even want to tell him you're alive?"

Daxter considered it. Not while he was with Sora—either Sora would see him with Axel, accuse them both of being nefarious villains and anger Jak, bring him over to their side. Arguably, that would make things easier, but Daxter wanted to keep Jak firmly rooted on the _good side_. If he was fighting for Organization XIII they might damn well _win_, and then the universe would be lost and it would be all his fault. Alternatively, Jak might _believe_ Sora, and grow to think Daxter was acting on behalf of Organization XIII and darkness and evil, and what if Daxter was killed while Jak still thought that about him? What if _Jak_ was killed thinking he was evil? Ideally, Daxter would stay hidden, slip back to his side when all was said and done and Jak would never, ever be the wiser.

He shook his head, "Not yet."

"This won't be your last chance, I want you to know. Just say the word, I'll take you back to him."

It was like Axel wanted him to go. He had to change the subject, "So, uh, where did you bring us this time?"

"A friend's place." Axel looked back at the hut, like he was expecting someone to come out and greet them. No one did. He called, "Namine?"

There was a tense silence. Daxter hunkered down in the sand. Namine... Wasn't that Kairi's Nobody? He gave Axel, obviously worried, a quick side-eye, and wondered what complicated and fascinating set of circumstances led Namine to willingly cloister herself on forsaken spit of land where only Axel, her _former warden_ knew she was. Then again, Namine was clearly gone. Perhaps she had built a raft and left. Daxter scanned the horizon, wondering where she ran off too, saw another, possibly less forsaken spit of land on the lip of the seascape. Maybe his eyes were tricking him, but he though he saw a white-sailed and red-sided ferry.

His toes were uncomfortably gritty. He jumped on Axel's shoulder again. The muscles he could feel were tense. He could read a person's entire mood with their shoulder muscles, long after all of the other senses failed him.

There was a rustling in the trees. Daxter looked. The first thing he noticed was a pair of blue sandals, decorated with cute, girly yellow stars and a pair of long, white legs covered from the knee up with a white dress that looked about at thick as sail cloth. She ran up to Axel, stopped arm's length from him, her pale face red with exertion, her blonde hair a mess, and her pretty blue eyes fluttering wildly. She sounded a little worried, "How much time?"

Axel smiled, the muscles under Daxters fingers seemed to melt completely, all tension was lost. For the first time since Daxter had met him, he was completely at ease. He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled, "All the time in the world, kiddo. I'm not hear for bad news."

Namine looked around, combed her fingers through her hair, twirled the ends shyly. The locks curled all together over her shoulder. Her eyes shifted to Daxter, the little grains and dead shells working their way deeper and deeper between his toes, even as he stood stock still. She smiled brightly, a life of complete solitude still yielded perfect pearly white teeth, "Oh, hello."

"Axel, what's going on here?"

"Daxter, this is Namine. Namine, Daxter."

"Yes, I gathered that much—Why is she allowing you anywhere _near_ her?"

Namine laughed, a light little twitter that did not really call for her to bring her hand to her lips, but she did. For a heartless Nobody, it sure _seemed_ real. She twirled her hair again, and asked with a strange kind of innocent omnipotence, "What are you here for?"

"Nothing." Axel shook his head. "We just needed a place to talk."

'_A place to talk'_ Daxter scoffed. Of all the empty beaches in the world, they wound up on _hers_. A likely story—still, it was not like Axel had demanded they go there.

"You've got that look on your face. You want to know _something_."

"No." Axel glanced out to sea, "No, I don't."

"You never look me in the eye when you lie, Axel."

Axel knew he was caught. He did not seem nervous about it, "How's it been? Seen Riku lately?"

"Yes. Last night—Tell me what you want to know."

"Can't a guy just _talk_?"

Daxter wanted to cut in, but he did not actually know what Axel wanted to ask. Daxter had plenty of questions, namely, did Namine have any memories of Kairi's youth in Hollow Bastion, particularly involving Lea, did she know anything about the mysterious, only vaguely possible fourteenth member of Organization XIII? Axel probably wanted to ask something completely stupid and innocuous like did she want to go out for ice cream or leave and go to some world with better plumbing and a movie theater for a while. But at the same time, as Axel tried to avoid Namine by walking away and Namine followed, Daxter was entertained, watching tiny, soft-voiced, demure Namine back Axel into a corner by giving him little more than a pouty face and a couple of fluttering eyelashes. "You've got something on your mind, so tell me what it is."

"Did Riku say anything about the Heartless? About their movements? I thought maybe he picked up on something Organization XIII missed."

"Who?" Neither one heard him_._

Namine shook her head. "That isn't what you're curious about."

Axel looked her dead in the eye, "Did he, though?"

"No. He was a bit preoccupied last night. He didn't say much."

"Preoccupied? Preoccupied with _what_?"

"He didn't say." she shrugged a little, soft and demure like everything else, "Just dropped off dinner and left. Didn't even say hi. I thought maybe DiZ had him on a tighter leash—that maybe he was starting to suspect he didn't kill me as completely as he said."

"Who!?" Daxter asked a little louder.

Namine jumped a little. Axel turned his head.

"Oh. Right. Ok, so, Sora has this friend..."


	19. Chapter 18

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

Also, I don't want to give anyone the wrong idea, I do not ship Axel-Namine or Axel-Xion or Axel-Kairi. I don't even ship Axel-Roxas

He's like twenty six and that's... ew.

* * *

Chapter eighteen:

"But speaking of friends...?" Axel let the question hang there, his hand open and expecting, once he had finished a back story that had spanned not one, but _two Rikus_, _THREE_ versions of the guy named Xehanort (one called himself _Ansem_ just to confuse everyone, and the third one was Xemnas) and a fellow that called himself DiZ_, _that was the REAL Ansem incognito, not like he ever actually told anyone that, and he was working with the Riku that was still alive who now looked like the _second version_ of Xehanort (the one that called himself Ansem). So one guy that looked like Ansem but was not Ansem was working for the guy that _also totally was not Ansem, _to undermine the efforts of Xemnas, because of what happened between Ansem and the _first_ Xehanort. Or something. Namine provided excellent visual aides—which Daxter realized about half way through the lengthy explanation of who was working for who and who was turning their back on the Organization this week and "_yes_ I trust Axel explicitly" and "Daxter will you just let that _go"_ were not actually a favor to _him_, they were a complete necessity for everyone. They were a national service.

"Well?" Axel demanded after he had been quiet for too long. Namine closed her sketch book and set it down on the table.

He was asking about Jak.

"Oh, _that_?" Daxter tried to sound unconcerned and dismissive. It did not work.

"Yes. _That."_

_"_What, exactly?" Namine asked, tilting her head and holding on to her wrist.

"Daxter is not the only one that survived. He has a friend, Jak. The guy's got strange powers. It looked like the power of darkness, but I've never seen it harnessed like that before—Didn't smell the same. What was it?"

"It's... It's a long story."

"I need to know."

"Like, life or death need, or _curiosity_ need?"

It came out sharp: "_Daxter!"_

Daxter fidgeted on his shoulder, and got the feeling he needed to abandon ship. He crawled down Axel's arm to his elbow, resting against the single table in the room, and then jumped onto Namine's lap. It was clearly the safest place for him right now. He settled in. It was a huge improvement over Axel's shoulder, but Daxter had been on softer laps before. He let Namine scratch his head. He could deflect—but Axel was determined to get the answers out of him. That was not hard to see. Not even Namine's could spare him from a persistent interrogation. He fiddled with the tiny metal bead on the drawstring of his coat, and Axel was silent, his eyes focused, but patient, willing to wait until he caved or found the right words.

"My world was... not like this one, it's not like Hollow Bastion—I don't think it's had a heart, not like those worlds, and it's not like Organization Thirteen's. It did not come together in the darkness. It was created, several thousand years ago, by a race of higher beings. We called them the Precursors, maybe there's another world out there that calls them something else. Maybe there are lots of them. They did not have access to anything like Kingdom Hearts, I don't think they knew what a Keyblade was, there was nothing to give the world any kind of heart. They had eco."

"Does this have something to do with Jak, or are you just deflecting?"

"Eco ran our machines, powered our lights, it was supposed to stay in the pipes that ran under the surface, a lot of it seeped out into the ground, which is why it was mined in Haven City, we had tapped out the pipes. Eco and people were not _meant_ to mix. I was human before, but I fell into Dark Eco—It should have killed me, but... it turned me into this. I still don't know why."

Axel looked at little shocked by the news. He would let him draw what ever conclusion made him most comfortable. "Anyway—when Jak was in that prison, they gave him incremental injections of it, just low enough to not kill him, until they thought he could survive a little more—and more and more over two years. It gave Jak his freaky powers."

"But Daxter." Namine interrupted him, "The Heartless are drawn to hearts—if your world did not have a heart, they would have passed over it."

"Maybe eco's good enough to fool them? Maybe they thought it would give them... _freakier powers_?"

Daxter looked at Namine like she had the answer—Namine was looking at Axel. Axel was looking at him, "You're the expert on eco, not her."

"Well..."

Axel walked him through it, "Can anyone in your world use it? You clearly have a heart, I'm willing to bet _Jak_ has one. If someone that could use eco turned into a Heartless, then...?"

"Uh... With lots of practice, sages could—in the past. But Haven City had not seen anyone with a natural ability Before Jak. Not for a good seventy years. Unless you count the Kid—but..."

Axel started shoving him through the problem, "Then what makes Jak special?"

"Natural resistance?" Daxter offered, "I don't know—I feel corny saying it, considering the circumstances, but maybe its the strength of his heart? Honestly, no one's ever given any suggestions why. It just _is_."

"So you don't know?"

"No. I don't know."

Even if he _did_ know, the less he told Axel, the less Xemnas could torture out of him. It was not that Daxter did not trust Axel to keep secrets on his own. Clearly, he had plenty—but everyone had their price. Daxter's price was Jak—he would admit he had _other_ prices—but those prices were gone, like Roxas. Axel's price, in lieu of Roxas? Probably Namine.

Axel ran a hand over his face. This was the first time Daxter had seen him with out his gloves, or even sleeves. It was too much, too soon. He had a few scars, some from nicks and some from scratches, there was a knotted one on his left shoulder, could have been from a burn. Daxter could also see the little red marks from where he had clawed him. His hands were larger than people would think, considering the size of his wrists. His palms were long, slender, with fingers shorter than Daxter expected, but quick, his nails were long from neglect, not vanity. His hands moved quicker without the gloves; like his feet on the ground, they were light when they drummed against the table, like he did not want to really touch it, or he feared he would set it on fire.

His body was like a barbed wire fence.

Axel looked out the window, open to the breeze. It ruffled his hair, lifted Daxter's fur and cooled his skin, and he noticed Namine did not have the same stale smell Axel and the others had. She smelled... almost human. It was not a mask, like perfume or cologne—he could not smell the alcohol used to dilute the oils. She was special for a Nobody, but he knew that. Organization XIII had powers, sure, awesome and dangerous, but that paled in comparison to what she could do. She had been the center of attention at Castle Oblivion for good reason, just like she explained. She could make Sora do what ever she wanted, she just had to make him _remember_.

Why, then, did they have her re-write his entire life story when he just had to be 'reminded' that he was supposed to be following Marluxia's orders?

Axel turned back to her, and there was a strange look in his eye. It could almost be called genuine affection, but considering what Daxter knew about their past, her few minutes of freedom had been for his personal enjoyment and need for some kind of twisted vindication, he placed it at 'familiarity' instead. What was he thinking now? About Roxas, maybe? He supposed Namine was the closest thing to Roxas he had left. Or was he seeing some foggy after-image of Kairi? Just how similar did they look? He did not want to ask.

He _wanted_ to ask what he was like in Castle Oblivion, so he could get a clearer before-and-after picture. Namine must have seen him turn over a new leaf there. That was the only way she would permit him near her. That, or he just continued to prove himself the lesser of two evils. He was clearly a lesser evil than DiZ, who wanted her _dead_ apparently (and _he was one of the good guys)._ He was _certainly_ a lesser evil than Xemnas.

But he did not want to ask Namine about it while Axel was around, because he would get defensive and try to make him shut up about it, and then he would never leave him alone with her ever again to let him try asking again.

Axel was not going to give him that chance. Not yet, at least. He stood up, jerked his coat off the back of the chair. That knotted scar on his shoulder had a twin—something had stabbed right through him. Daxter did not see it for long. He covered it quickly, hiding it from him, maybe, hiding it from Namine, more likely. The tight sleeves stretched for his hands. "We're going."

"Do you think they followed you?"

Axel reached for a glove. His hand stopped, fingers closed on empty air. Daxter noticed the faintest of cuts on his finger, like one of the first things he had done with his chakrams had pridefully tested the edge... and split his finger clean open. His eyes flicked to Daxter, a little worry, a little distrust, but he reassured Namine just as quickly, "They don't follow me. Saix thinks I'm working, and he's got better things to do. No one has asked about you for a very long time. They've lost interest."

She did not want him to go. "Or Xemnas knows I'm here."

He did not want to leave. "If he cared, you'd know. Xemnas has bigger plans right now. Trust me."

Namine looked like she wanted to trust him. Daxter climbed onto the table, and from there, up Axel's arm as he put on his other glove, hooked his finger around the silver chain on his wrist and adjusted it, the three mis-matched fire elements clinked against the tiny chakrams, the fingertip-sized, raw garnet wrapped in wire, a sun stone, a red flint arrow head, they were scavenged charms of some bygone era, someone else's mastery of magic. He wondered where they came from—he did not know about the origins of the elements, just that Organization XIII had precious few of them. Someone else must have made them.

Namine stood up and let him know she was going to be stubborn about it by stepping in front of the door and bracing herself with a hand on the back of the chair. Not like doors and bracing chairs mattered to a guy that could walk through the darkness. Namine batted her lashes, tilted her head, just to make extra sure Axel could not lie to her. "What about Saix?"

Axel was a sucker—no heart and he was _still_ in danger of falling for that old trick. He changed the subject immediately, "Do me a favor? Daxter's friend? He's in Hollow Bastion. I think he needs and extra pair of eyes on him. Ask Riku about it? I'd rather have DiZ poking around him than Xemnas."

Namine tightened her grip on the chair, considering Jak first, then Saix. Daxter did not know her history with Saix. He had not been in Castle Oblivion, and he had never heard him speak her name. If _this_ had been the secret hideaway Saix had wanted him to report back, he had not been very clear about it. Still, Daxter knew the Keyblade was valuable, and he knew there were only two Keyblade wielders, Xemnas must be sweating in his perfectly tailored black cloak with out her, he must have put Saix in charge of getting her back.

Namine must have considered Riku last because she let go of the chair, but she was not done with them, not yet. "Yes, alright. I'll ask him."

"Thanks."

Before Axel could slip away, she used the last thing in her arsenal. She stepped forward, rose up on her toes and wrapped one arm around his neck. She would have used both, but she was mindful of Daxter. Her other arm slipped around his side. Axel was a sucker, but he had some immunity to this tactic. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and did not tell her anything about Saix. Daxter considered them both lucky she did not have the heart to cry. Imagine how useless Axel would be against her then. Namine rested her cheek against his chest, rocked back on her toes, pulling him down and making it even harder for Daxter to balance, he hand to step on the back of Axel's neck.

"Please be careful."

Axel made a little noise that might have been pain from the sugary sweet knife she had just plunged into his side, might have been shame. No heart and he could still be guilt-tripped. He took a deep breath, then put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. He took a step back, just to be sure, and gave an honest effort to lie, "Saix hasn't asked about you."

She believed him.

Axel opened a door to their left and stepped through, hurrying through the betwixt like he expected Saix to pop up and demand to know where he had been. He grabbed the fabric of his coat, sniffed it, and said, "Why did she have to do that? Get on the other side. I _swear_ Saix can smell her on me."

That was a stupid request. There was no way. If Saix's nose was _that good._ He would have figured out Daxter was a fraud in a second and Axel never would have _considered_ helping him with the masquerade, let alone suggest it! But Daxter did it anyway, stretching out under his hair and clawing his way to the other shoulder.

"_That's_ all I am?" Daxter pretended to be offended, but he laughed so Axel knew he was joking, "Eau de Ottsel? Should I check you for long, blonde hairs?"

He swept his tail over the contaminated shoulder.

Axel was not listening. Big shock there. "Not like Namine needs to know that."

"Think it's got something to do with Kairi?"

Axel was _great_ at not listening, he hissed, _"Why_ is he so obsessed with loose ends?"

Daxter had to let the subject drop, because Axel stepped through the other side of the path, into the dull, grey lounge, with its windows looking up to the heart-shaped moon and he did not want to discuss Jak or Namine or Kairi in the heart of Organization XIII's stronghold. That would not keep his buddy 'under the radar' for long.

"You two."

Axel jumped, turned, stammered, "S-Saix."

"Xigbar has called an emergency meeting."

Daxter could tell by his voice and his face that did not think it was an emergency. Axel leaned back, moving his shoulder away from him, and giving him a slow, cautious, "... Okay."

Saix narrowed his eyes and added, "I expect a full report in two hours."

Then he turned on his heel and walked away. Axel shuddered, said absently, "So much news in one day. What next? A new Keyblade bearer? Sheesh. I open one more door today I'm gunna pass out."

He opened another door anyway.

Daxter really hoped not. He really, really hoped not. He would be glad if Tess was around, really, but not if Organization XIII new about her. He would probably just run away and throw himself off one of the sky scrapers and end it all. Maybe he could some how force his heart out. That would make this situation a little easier to bear. As it stood now, with Jak running around, and possibly Tess, Daxter felt a little nauseous.

When Daxter saw the room clearly. All eyes were fixed pointedly at Xigbar, who sat smugly beside Xemnas. Daxter was glad to have Saix's glare focused on someone _else_ for a change. He was glaring past Xemnas, twisted in his seat to focus the full power of his golden eyes on Xigbar. Daxter looked around the room. Xaldin looked peeved, Demyx... looked like he desperately needed medical attention, Luxord pretended he really did not care, but there was a nervous energy to his cards, his fingers clumsy. Xemnas looked like he knew the answer already, even though Xigbar looked like he had not told a single soul. _He_ looked giddy.

"Well?" Luxord asked, "We're all here, Xigbar. Tell us—what matter so desperately needs our undivided attention?"

Xigbar's grin spread, "There's a new Key Bearer in Twilight Town."

Everyone was already looking at Xigbar, so none of them noticed Daxter nearly shit himself. His claws took a second, deeper plunge into Axel's shoulder, giving him a nice matched set of eight puncture wounds on both sides. Axel cringed, just a little bit, but was quiet. Daxter hardly noticed.

Xemnas' voice was low, slow but it always was—he had a fantastic baritone. "Are you positive?"

"Positive." Xigbar replied, "She's cute. Feisty."

"What's her name?" Demyx asked, oblivious to his bleeding head and dislocated shoulder, "Does she seem like more fun than Sora? Because I just had a run in with him, and I can tell you—he acts all cheeky and fun, but he's a brute when it comes down to it."

"Tess. And she's all bark, no bite."

Daxter realized then that he was still clawing Axel's shoulder. He carefully picked his claws out as Xemnas asked, "How closely have you watched this girl?"

"Not very—'fraid I got a little carried away. She's easy to rile up, so getting her to hear the call to action won't be hard, but she's not strong enough to hold her own. Not yet. Best handle with care. I would say send Waterworks, but, well, look at him."

Demyx seemed to suddenly remember that his head was bleeding. He swiped two fingers over the smear of blood, rubbed the stains into his glove with his thumb, "Anybody got a potion?"

Axel and Luxord both searched their pockets. No one else moved.

"Demyx has his own mission."

"Herc the Heartless isn't gunna happen." Demyx shook his head.

Saix had heard that excuse several times before. He gave Demyx a side eye, "You know perfectly well what will turn Hercules into a Heartless."

"Yeeaah." Demyx dragged it out, "But I don't wanna _kill anyone_. If the job's up for grabs, I'd rather egg on some rookie than face Sora again."

Axel found the potion. He leaned forward, tossed it underhand to Demyx. It splashed on the ground between them. Demyx looked at the sparkly green puddle that could could have cured him to Axel, then to Saix. Xaldin's thick veneer of stoicism broke, very briefly. He hid a chuckle behind his hand as Demyx asked, high and whining, "Can we move the meetings to a _smaller_ _room_?"

"_No._"

Sounded like Saix had heard_ that _plenty of times, too.

"Let's send Coppertop." Xigbar suggested.

Coppertop. That must mean Axel. He was the only redhead that had been around long enough to get a nickname. Not like Xigbar knew him well enough for that. Seesh. No wonder Tess got riled up. He was _creepy_.

Xemnas considered it. "Send Tarxed to occupy the girl?"

Coppertop. _He_ was Coppertop. He was in too deep. He was never getting out. He had been initiated when he had been named Tarxed—but it was _official_ now. He was doomed. Tess was going to find out what he was up too, Jak was next. He would not have a friend left in Haven City when this was over. He should just live with Axel when he got his heart back. If he survived that long.

Xemnas looked him over, and he asked, "Tarxed—is there a chance you and this _Tess_ come from the same world?"

Daxter swallowed, he started to glance at Axel for moral support—but now he just needed to distance himself from him. What was more likely to get him this job? Say no? What if Xemnas gave it to someone else, gave it back to Xigbar? His name was going to come up. Tess was bound to say his name. It was only a matter of time before someone else figured out that 'Daxter' was just 'Ardet' with an 'x' same as Tarxed—and from there, he would figure out he was just one tiny fake. He would get in trouble. Worse—Axel would get in trouble. This was a no win situation. He felt sick. Everything was falling apart.

He looked at Xigbar. Xigbar was grinning ear to ear.

"Tarxed isn't ready for a solo mission yet." Axel said quickly, "He doesn't have a weapon, he doesn't have magic."

"Getting him armed was meant to be your task, Axel."

"And then you sent me on a fool's errand to Hollow Bastion. It got in the way."

"If it was a fool's errand, why did it take so long?"

"Aw, Gee. Guess it's cause I'm _a damn fool_, Saix."

Saix stopped glaring at him and shifted his eyes back to Xigbar, "You heard him. Tarxed will continue his training."

"Send Flamesilocks, too."

Flamesilocks.

Maybe Xigbar wasn't so bad.

"I'm fed up with Keyblades. Send Xaldin. He's almost done with the Beast and he hasn't written a report in weeks. He needs a change of pace."

"Send Luxord—he's the risk taker."

"Send Demyx. He's the weakest one, objectively, he's the right choice. As a gentleman, I cannot take a risk with a young lady's life—especially one worthy of the Keyblade."

"Dunno why you're all trying to get out of this."

Demyx waved his good arm. "I'm _not trying to get out of it! _Heal me up and I'm gone._"_

Xigbar ignored him, _"_It's an easy job—Did I forget to say she was cute or something?"

"Tarxed, you did not answer my question—are you familiar with Tess?"

"I, uh..." The room went quiet. Everyone looked at _him_ now. Even Axel looked at him. Daxter, recklessly, jumped to the empty chair beside him. He wanted to put a good distance between them, at least for this. Lying could save his life—it could end it. At this point... He did not know if he wanted to be spared or just have it over, but he had Axel to think about. "I, uh... There might be a memory or two there."

It was _just vague enough. _"To pull the strings and start the third Keybearer on her journey, we need a knowledge of her only a familiar face can bring. You will go with Xigbar—"

"Nope." Xigbar threw up his hands, still grinning broadly. He was getting a kick out of this. "Sorry. I don't babysit. If he can't watch himself, he can't come with me."

Daxter wondered how the hell Xigbar got away with that much attitude. Sure, he was clearly older than Xemnas—but that was no reason to give him sass.

"Besides, if Cherry Bomb—"

Daxter could not stop himself, "_Cherry Bomb?!_"

Axel muttered something trite and bitter about his limited mortality and Daxter floundered for a way slip back into his cover. Everyone was staring at him, and he knew he should feel some fear, a little regret, he just felt a crippling second hand embarrassment for Xigbar, and the need to punch him in the face.

Xigbar brushed it off, "Well, Coppertop, many years ago, back when he was Master Xehanort, Lord Xemnas gave me a pretty simple command, 'just mess with that Key Bearer for a little while' he said. Five weeks ago? Same order. 'Just mess with that Key Bearer for a little while.' With out any real orders, I decided I'd better just follow the pattern and mess with that Key Bearer for a while." Then he laughed, "You should have _seen_ her face!"

No one else laughed. Xigbar stopped, straightened up, and cleared his throat, "But yeah. That was out of line. No one should be called Cherry Bomb. Anyway, if Blondie sees him with me, she'll just accuse me of kidnapping him, no matter what I say, probably no matter what he says, either."

Saix was dangerously close to losing it, "Xigbar. That's the _point._"

Demyx was still vying for the job, "Look, I don't see why she has to work against us. If she knows Tarxed, then just send him with me, scrapes and all."

"We send those two, they're both likely to defect."

"I'll tell her Sora roughed me up, and _then_ we'll take her gallivanting off in the other direction. We'll have two Key bearers doing the work. And more importantly, I won't have to fight Sora again."

That was Daxter's best way to quietly slip away with out getting Axel in trouble. He pointed at Demyx, "That's a good plan. Tess would fall for that. She... uh... loves justice."

"Except you cannot fight and you do not have magic—And Demyx, as Luxord said, is the weakest among us. Our numbers are too few to send members to unexplored worlds with a novice._" _Xemnas silenced them with a few words, "If we were thirteen strong, I would allow it, but we are not. Xigbar, you will remain at your post, observe Tess, observe only. I know you have a habit of toying with Key Bearers."

"Those _were_ your orders."

"And it is what you will do... When Yen Sid or the King hears of her. Then, you will distract her, lure her away from their teachings, and, should Tarxed be prepared for the task, he will accompany you. It is only a matter of time before they realize their crusade against heartless is serving our ends. Sora will become ineffective until we find a way to motivate him. Saix, you will continue your efforts to find Namine, to see if she can be persuaded to take apart Sora's memories yet again."

Daxter glanced back at Axel. He was not listening, instead, he was examining the new set of puncture wounds above his clavicle with a toothy grimace.

Saix glanced at Axel, "Namine is... slippery."

Daxter was not even on Axel's shoulder and he felt him tense up.

He glanced back at Xemnas, He was grinning broadly, like he thought no one could see it. It was the first time Daxter had ever seen him smile. He never wanted to see him smile again.

Was it too late to go back to Jak?

* * *

Sorry, Demyx. You're my favorite, and yes the madcap adventures of "Demyx and the Lovebirds" would be awesome and ya'll'd make a spectacular folk band _but you can't leave, Demyx. You gotta die._

Also, you're gunna find out sooner or later if you haven't already figured it out: Xemnas knows. No one write in about villain stupidity. Xemnas knows Daxter's a fake. So do Xigbar and Saix. He just figures it will be easier to get Jak to join after he's been turned into a Nobody if Daxter is around.

Anyway. I'm up too late.


	20. Chapter 19

Taking Orders from Nobody

(disclaimed)

I wanted to cut this chapter out because I want to move on to Tess. The boys have had enough fun but A. These events need to happen, this was the quickest way to show them happening.

B. It was like, practically done already.

* * *

Chapter nineteen:

Saix's footsteps echoed around him in the white hall. He did not want to go, but he had to go. Their numbers were dwindling—sooner or later, Axel would be one of the last ones left, and he would have to talk to him.

At least, Saix _wanted_ Axel to be one of the last ones left, but he was becoming difficult to control, even more difficult to work with. He had always been stubborn, when they were people, he had been the most stubborn person he knew, but it had tapered off, after a year of being with out hearts, and Saix thought he was finally letting go of his attachment to his emotions, focusing on their missions, but he had been wrong. Roxas happened. Namine happened. Stubborn became disobedient. Disobedient became spiteful. Spiteful became reckless. Reckless became secrets. He was not supposed to have secrets. Secrets implied a desire and motivation to _keep_ them. That implied feelings. That implied a heart.

He would get him self killed if he kept this up. The Superior might give the task to Xigbar, he was more than capable of eliminating Axel, he might give it to Saix himself, to test his already proven loyalty. He would have to die and Saix would have to kill him. Worse than having to kill him—having to kill him because he chose someone else over him. Part of him, the juvenile, rash part of him that had stopped maturing when he lost his heart, the part of him that he could still feel, thrashing and screaming, clawing, straining like a dog on a leash, did not want to come to terms with that. He did not want to accept that. He could not accept that. Axel—_Lea _was not talking to him anymore.

Because of someone else.

Demyx was due to be killed off—Saix had been given no explanation why, he was simply told the boy had worn his welcome to the bone. He was unsuited to the Organization and he needed to be disposed of. But Sora was more merciful than they thought, or perhaps weaker. Or perhaps Demyx's facade was fooling even them, and he was _stronger_ than they had thought. He had failed to be eliminated, but there would always be another time. There would always be another reason to send him into battle against Sora. Sora had gotten rid of Marluxia, the only other member of the organization Xemnas considered a threat, he would eventually take care of Demyx.

Though, Demyx had done nothing wrong. He had executed his missions. He did so with many complaints and turned in the bare minimum of reports, but he still _did them_. He had no secrets, he had no hidden motives. Saix did not want to say Demyx was better at his job than Axel—but Demyx was better than Axel. Why, then, eliminate him? Why not eliminate Axel?

Saix did not _want_ Axel gone. When he regained his heart he would miss him. He would feel as though he had failed him. It would probably be true. He would have failed him. Saix would not miss Demyx when he regained his heart. Demyx had never meant anything to him. Demyx would never mean anything to him.

But Sora would take care of Demyx.

Getting him to take care of Axel would be... difficult.

That is, getting Axel into a position where he would be willing to fight Sora would be _difficult_.

Sora was, after all, Roxas by another name and a different face. Axel would be hindered by the illusion of friendship he had shared with Roxas. He would not raise a hand against Sora. That would risk losing Roxas permanently. Axel would never suffer that. Saix understood—He did not want to admit it. He wanted to be jealous, but there was no heart to be jealous with.

Made him wonder why he did not want to talk to Axel—no heart to want to avoid him.

He pushed it to the back of his mind, focused on the task at hand. Talking to Axel required a lot of focus. He insisted, all of these years, 'Isa was the smart one,' 'Saix is clever—I couldn't outwit him if I tried,' and 'I don't have the mind for planning. I just follow orders.' But he was lying. He was crafty. Reckless with his actions, disregarding his physical well-being at every turn—but his words were glass. He was very careful with his words. Bad liars had to be. He could spin a lie with perfect words, around and around so many times, so perfect, so memorized, that even if his eyes screamed he was lying, you would start to be fooled even if you knew it was wrong, until you were certain the sky was red and the sunset was blue and water was not all _that_ wet, really.

He was probably not even aware of how he could turn such a thread into a gleaming web.

Or Saix was just to willing to be lied too.

Axel never gave a straight answer, never gave a clear opinion. Saix had know him for ten, fifteen, or was it _twenty_ years now? He never knew a single thought that crossed his mind. He claimed no knowledge of Kairi, but Saix knew, Saix remembered. It was odd that he remembered. When hearts were lost, when feeling was lost, the memories most closely tied to those feelings fell away, too, peeled back until only cold, objective truths remained... until that was lost, too. But Saix remembered. Lea had been fiercely protective of her. At least, coddling. Isa had been the stricter one. He had always been the stricter one. He had been paid to be the stricter one. Lea just tagged along, pulled either by his friendship with him or some strange, inescapable longing to have a younger sibling. When she had vanished, he had been furious, did not sleep, barely ate, did not focus on anything that could not get him into Ansem's laboratories.

Still, when he said he did not remember Kairi, Saix did not doubt his word. He was in he habit of lying, but the truth sometimes did appear. Little over a year ago, when the superior's long-awaited plan had been set in motion, and Kairi had been found again, with out a heart, Saix had expected Axel to disobey orders, jump up, and interfere. He had even prepared a few useless, menial tasks for him, chase down this, make sure that's running smoothly to keep him distracted—but Axel had done nothing. When Demyx casually mentioned it, he did not even bat an eye. Saix seemed to recall him saying, "Well, of course. She's one of the seven." before going back to his lunch and never saying a word about it again. What more proof could Saix had asked for?

To Axel, Kairi was a long-forgotten memory. A void he did not know he needed to fill. The question was not when. Saix would never know when. They had not discussed Kairi every day, and Axel would certainly not remember forgetting Kairi.

The question was why? Why did he forget? Her stories of Ansem's work had spurned some sneaking around the perimeter, wondering what would happen if they got caught. When he was still Isa, Saix had thought it was just a game. Kairi was making up stories, and Lea was just having a little fun, because how _else_ were they going to come to terms with the Unversed, or pass a few boring weekends?

Then things had changed. Her grandmother's fears about Xehanort, that had spurred a little more. Lea took it a little more seriously—or maybe he always had. Isa started putting his mind to the problem. They got craftier. They got quicker. They got deeper. Then Kairi vanished right under their noses.

Why had he forgotten the thing that had _motivated them_ from the start?

Though—why did not matter either. Knowing why would get him nowhere. It would solve nothing, whether or not Axel remembered. His memories of their friendship remained, but he willfully ignored those, too, what would a memory of Kairi solve? The rift between them was cut. With out hearts, it could not be bridged. Whether the memory was gone, truly lost, fallen away with neglect, or hidden under the thick lacquer of the lies Axel told himself daily, it would not matter.

"Yeah. Here." Axel held the report in his face. The paper was still warm. Just printed. He was acting angry, maybe frustrated. Maybe defensive. It was hard to tell these days. Kingdom Hearts was getting closer to completion every day. Maybe it was a sign his heart was coming back.

Saix wondered where his was. He was sick of this tired, drained feeling that hung over him constantly. Demyx's facade of the lazy pacifist seemed to be getting a little less fake. Even _Xaldin_ seemed to be regaining his heart. Where was his? Or was this only a placebo—did they only think they were getting their hearts back? Or was a heart just barred from him forever?

He took the paper from Axel's hand and glanced at the report. Less than two hundred words. Less than one hundred. Bland, objectively correct, but more lackluster than usual. He was hiding something.

Saix was not shocked. "Axel."

Axel stood up, started to walk away. Saix stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Axel did not say anything. No protests, no disgust or anger. He twisted, raised his hand and knocked his arm away, but he did not turn completely. He did not face him, but he did he met his eye, "What?"

"Have you found Namine?"

Axel deflected, still did not turn around. He crossed his arms, tossed his head, "That's _your_ mission. You expect me to do it, too? I told you, finding that girl—" he turned around now, placed a fist on his hip and tilted his head, frowning, "Am I supposed to do that in my _free time_?"

"No. Have you found her?"

Axel did not meet his eyes, "No."

Saix considered telling him he needed to get a little better at lying—but it was easier to _tell _he was lying when he was bad at it. He considered telling him _knew_ that he knew where Namine was, but all things considered, he got just as much information this way, and Axel was more useful following orders, he was also more _alive_ following orders. Axel was useful. It would be a waste to eliminate him when keeping him on his invisible leash was so easy, yet Saix did not want to resort to following him, because what little was left of his old self wanted to trust him _and _see him alive.

Axel was a tricky one. He knew how to hide, he knew how to slip into the shadows and vanish with out a trace. Axel could lead him through worlds like a maze, places Saix had never seen before. Places he had found in the many wanderings he had made over the years, searching. Maybe he had been looking for Kairi. Saix had always assumed that. He would not get an answer now.

He was waiting for him to say something. Saix tried to think of something to say, something that would motivate him to take Namine out of hiding, because finding her was his mission and with Axel set against him, he would never find her.

He did not know why he said it. "I could have gone to Castle Oblivion. The Superior wanted to send me—Do you know why I advised him to send you, instead?"

"You're choosing to chat about this _now_?"

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

Axel did not meet his eyes. Big surprise there. But it was not a lie this time. He just wanted him gone. "No."

"You truly don't remember?"

His eyes flicked up, narrowed, "Remember what," then for an added punch, he added, "_Isa_? What do my memories have to do with Namine?"

Saix... did not answer. The Superior did not want him to answer. As much strength as Isa's will had, as violent and angry as it could make him—The Superior kept his mouth locked tight. Axel was a wild card he did not want in the works. Saix could not mention Kairi to him. Not now, after she was long forgotten. He might act on his own—Axel could never be allowed to act on his own.

Axel blinked. His eyebrows shot up, and when his eyelids stopped fluttering in some feigned shock—maybe it was genuine. Saix could have envied him, but Axel did not answer. He suspected that somehow, Axel knew. Either because of what his vague, short report was hiding, or because he never _really_ forgot.

But Axel was _waiting_ for him to say it. He knew him—after all these years, Axel still knew the expression that covered his face when he wanted to say something. Even if the fragment of The Superior in the dark pool where his heart used to be ensured there was a magical gag order, enforced at all times. Axel lost patience. He must have thought of something, his green eyes flicked back down and he hissed, "I wouldn't tell you even if I _did _know where she was."

Isa wanted to scream—maybe he was screaming, deep, deep down. It barely made a ripple on the surface. "Axel."

"I'm here." it was meant in reassurance, it came out frustrated, "Just tell me. I'm here. I'm not a mind reader."

Saix had to say something, even if it was a lie. Even if it was the last thing on his mind. "The eighteen wheeler."

Axel frowned, moved his hand to the left side of his chest, remembering, "... right."

Usually, that worked. Usually, that made Axel remember they had been the truest of friends and that even in the darkest time they had each other. It made him remember pushing on Axel's chest so hard he heard ribs breaking while he nearly bled out on the pavement and wondering if CPR worked when you did not have a heart.

But Axel was slowly figuring out that the truth of ten years ago was the bullshit of today. He shook his head, turned, and walked away, muttering, much more skeptical this time, "Right."

Saix watched him walk away, and he would have been pleased if he could care more about it. Buried deep, Isa's will screamed and cried and rattled his chains. On the outside, he felt a tickle on his wrist.

Saix looked at his sleeve, and tugged the blonde hair of betrayal from the stitching. It must have gotten snagged when he had grabbed his shoulder. Too pale to be Demyx's, much too long for him to even consider it to be the _alleged_ Tarxed. Roxas was long gone—it was unlikely a stray hair of his had found refuge on Axel's shoulder, and remained up to a month later. It was too long anyway. To short to be Xigbar or the Superior's, either. Saix blinked once, and muttered, "Namine."

But Namine was not the one he wanted to see.

He wrapped the hair around his fingers until it snapped under the strain, let if fall to the floor. The entire building was irritatingly clean. Not a speck of dust anywhere.

Namine was not the one he wanted to see.

Namine was a cheap imitation. A washed-out photocopy. Little better than a replica. She was an easy substitute, a place holder. Watered down.

He wanted to see Kairi.

He was not allowed to see Kairi.

Xemnas had expressly forbidden him. He did not know why. He did not see the harm in it—he did not have a heart now. It was not like the mere sight of her would cause him to defect, run off. He was not Axel, falling victim to some memory of instinct and molding himself into the older brother of every new recruit, every face that conjured up even the slightest hint of fondness, trying to fill some void his lost memories had given him.

He just... wanted to see Kairi again.

But he had other duties to attend to.

He found the alleged Nobody walking down the hallway of bedrooms on the west wing. He was standing at the end, staring at the blank wall. 'Tarxed' stood there for a while, head tilted, hands on his hips, foot tapping. He was thinking about something. Saix wondered who Ardet really was—he wondered if his name was really Ardet or if he had given a fake one, doubtless on Axel's council. Eventually he shrugged, shook his head, then he turned.

Saix stepped to the side, took cover behind the corner and listened, "Okay, out loud this time, so you don't lose track. One... Two... Three..."

He was counting the bedrooms. Saix waited at corner, standing against the wall, but not pressed against it.

"Four... Five... Six... Seven..."

He wondered why he was counting the bedrooms. There were thirteen. There would always be thirteen. There had always been thirteen.

"Eight... Nine... Ten..."

There would never be anything _but_ thirteen.

"Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen..."

Saix started to move.

"Fourteen?"

He turned the corner to see Tarxed pointing at the final door. He looked concerned, confused.

"Tarxed, what are you doing?"

Tarxed's eyes shifted quickly, from Saix's face to the final door. "You said I was fifteen. Implying there were fourteen members."

Saix did not not want every mistake to be made into a full-blown investigation. He wanted it to end here: "I misspoke. We never planned for more than thirteen members."

It did not end it. 'Tarxed' tilted his head, wrinkled his nose. Demyx made that face all the time. It had never occurred to Saix that an animal might have the complex musculature required for it. "Then, _why_ fourteen rooms? Look—Axel told me Namine can re-write memories, when I asked him why she was so important. I know he said it was only Sora's, but what if... You all forgot that fourteenth member?"

"Impossible. Tarxed, you are have more important tasks to focus on."

"And I'll focus on 'em when Axel comes back from writing that report."

"Why aren't you writing one?"

"You can't read Precursor."

He was probably right. This was the first he had even heard of Precursors—he did not know how old they were. Years of research into the Keyblade War had never once turned up their name, but their fabled existence had been an important part of his world, before it was lost. Giving them language, technology, creating the very ground they walked on.

He had other matters to attend too.

He reached into his pocket quickly, took out two items, and tossed them lightly to him.

When Tarxed caught them, got a good look at them, a little too big for his hands, he looked bewildered.

"A... A pocket watch and a spyglass?"

'Tarxed' looked they spyglass over. Saix had never given it a very close examination. It was made of copper, or a close cousin of it, and wrapped around the length there were strange markings. Saix had been unable to read them, and so he had not paid them much mind. Tarxed, on the other hand, took a keen interest in them, he traced his bare fingertips over them, eyes searching with a keen familiarity, a curiosity_. _What wondrous knowledge did the markings hold? What great words had some key bearer of etched on the metal? Was it written in Precursor?

"W-where did this come from? Where do the elements come from?"

"They come from Keyblade Masters long past, trophies left in the Keyblade Graveyard for the taking. Xemnas has spent years collecting them. Some take magic and let it craft its own vessels. Some chose to pour magic into waiting items."

He ran his fingers over it again, looked at the pocket watch. "And what does this one do?" he held it by the chain, let it swing back and forth, "Hypnotize peeps?"

"It warps time—specifically, it will allow you to speed up time for yourself, anyone you choose. The spell is called Haste, and you will find it invaluable in combat."

"And the spy glass?"

"A spell called Libra. It will allow you to see things you would not normally be able to see. You will be able to read opponents and learn their weaknesses. It would be difficult, fatal, for you to take a problem head-on. You would need a more calculated approach."

Tarxed, Ardet, what ever his true name was, his heart allowed him to see things as they were, "I thought you said getting me armed was _Axel's_ job? You're doing his work for him? You care?"

Saix deflected, "What do you think of Axel so far?"

Tarxed met like with like. He deflected, too, while casting mini on his new elements and tucking them away, "Twenty feet tall, too skinny, probably a nightmare to look at undressed. Red haired."

Objectively, yes. This was very true. Saix would agree to all of those things.

"Do you trust him?"

The alleged Nobody shifted uncomfortably, his eyes wandered, Saix said nothing.

"Lemme up there."

"No."

"Come on—you've got more room up there than Axel."

"What's he been doing?"

"I don't want to have to _scream_ it. If we're gunna gossip, I'd rather do it quiet-like."

Saix knelt down, let Daxter climb up his arm, and he asked again, "What has he been doing, Tarxed?"

The Alleged Nobody settled down, stretched on on his back, "Ahhh... Now _this_ is a shoulder! Boy-howdy, you must hit the gym five times a day."

"_Tarxed."_

Tarxed got back on topic—or at least, he teased the topic from a few feet away. "I'm sensing this is just some, you know, this isn't a duty to the Organization. This is personal, ain't it? What did he do?"

Saix was silent.

"It must be something. I figure I might as well know. If I'm gunna be dragged into a spat, I'd like to know the reason—who knows." Tarxed feigned casual and looked at his claws, "I mean, maybe the tiniest little detail could pop out of the wood work if you tell me what to look for?"

He was not allowed to answer. "I... I do not remember."

"There must be something? Was it Roxas? Where you jealous of Roxas?"

"Nobodies do not feel jealousy."

"Your mouth says 'no heart' but beefy trapezius here says 'I'm pissed off and stressed out'" Saix set a brisk pace but Tarxed could not be escaped. He started massaging his tense neck with his elbow, "Maybe this goes back a little more? Was it pre-nobody? You... You don't blame _him_ for what happened do you?"

Saix had no idea how it managed to slip out, "It was _his_ idea to go to the outer gardens."

He got something. He knew he got something. The massaging elbow stopped, "...Ooooooh?"

Saix stopped walking. He could not properly turn to face him. He was too close. The fur of his ear tickled his cheek.

"When Axel went to Hollow Bastion, what did he do?"

"Oh... Right. Axel's hidey-hole... It's not there, and he doesn't do anything suspicious, anyway. He just went for ice cream on a clock tower. Said he used to do it with Roxas. I figure with out a heart, you still fall into old patterns... Maybe you're more likely to?"

"But Hollow Bastion?"

"He _did_ say he disliked going there. Said it made him feel like he was forgetting something—maybe I shouldn't be too gabby... Course, since I'm spying... He said _you_ forgot, too, but sounded to me like he didn't ask. So, go on and let me know, whats it our skeleton in the closet forgot?"

Saix, once again, found himself forbidden to answer.

Tarxed frowned, "I can't help you if you don't give me more questions to answer. You asked me what Axel did—I told you. He went for ice cream. What's with that look on your face? It's like you're mad he isn't running around behind Xemnas' back. It's like you _want_ him too... _Do_ you want him, too?"

Part of him, yes. But he did not dare admit that. "Has he taken you to see Namine?"

"Namine? You think Axel knows where she is? If he's got her somewhere, he hasn't shown me."

He was lying. His voice was very, very good at telling lies. And from a shoulder, where he knew his face could hardly be seen, it must be easy to lean close and whisper a lie. He changed the subject quickly.

"Look, he's not doing anything out of he ordinary, you can trust me on that. Axel's got Organization XIII's true goal in mind, just like the rest of us. Why don't you just go find him, ask him if he wants to go out for a beer, talk your issues through like a couple of adults instead of making me your courier?"

"Axel quit drinking a year ago."

There was a pause.

"Okay... Go for ice cream. He won't say no to that."

"Can't stand the stuff."

It brought back too many memories.

Tarxed sighed, sat up and leaned forward. Saix could tell by the look on his face that he knew something was up, but he did not want to run the risk of saying too much, just in case Saix was playing him. Saix wondered if he knew about Kairi, and, just like Axel, was trying to bait him in to saying her name. His blue eyes remained open, understanding, honest. He asked, "What is it that _you _want?"

He wanted to see Kairi. He was not allowed to tell that. Tarxed waited a few minutes for the answer, but when none came, he continued on with out it, "Look, think about what you want. Look at your life, look at your choices—with out those mucky emotions getting in your way, you should be able to make an objective choice. Then, and really take my advice to what ever you've got in place of a heart, _just do it."_

"Xemnas forbid it."

Tarxed's frown deepened a little, "Who said you have to _tell_ Xemnas? Who said Xemnas has got to know?"

Saix did not meet his eyes. The X that marked his face burned. Xemnas had cut it there, marked him with the recursant's sigil so he would never be out of his sight again. His leash would always be tight, it would always be short. He would know. Xemnas knew when he thought about Kairi, when he let Axel get away with anything he wanted to do. Xemnas knew.

All he could say was, "Xemnas forbid it."

Tarxed sighed, "Well—then I guess you're gunna have to think about a way around that. If you need my help, you just need to ask. I am one hundred percent _pro-friendship_, you got that?"

That might have been the truth. It might have been a lie. Tarxed stood up, looked at the ground, and gulped, summoning some courage. Saix considered telling him the scent of his fur told him everthing he needed to know. He did not smell like darkness—he did not smell like a Nobody. But Tarxed, Ardet, what ever his name was, was an important piece in the Superior's game, and he needed to be kept safe.

Tarxed dropped down, gave Saix a cheeky grin, and scurried off, vanishing around the corner, hopefully to practice his magic and not slack off or run to find Axel and tell him of everything.

Saix brushed his gloved hand over his shoulder to sweep away any shed hairs and felt an unusual grittiness in the smooth fabric, not the slender fibers of shed fur, but small, felt like sand, crushed glass, glitter, He looked, pinched it between his fingers, rubbed them back and forth, let it fall into his open palm. It was plain, such a pale pink it looked white against the black glove.

_Sand._

He knew someone would screw up.

* * *

So, I was looking over some stuff for Berserkers.

According to the myth, epic poems, what have you, they are immune to _fire_.

_SAIX. The BERSERKER. _IS _IMMUNE. _TO _FIRE._

_NOMURA!? NOMURA DID YOU DO THAT ON PURPOSE!?_

_YOU'RE KILLING ME, NOMURA._


	21. Chapter 20

Taking Orders from Nobody.

OK I was gunna do Tess' chapter and I HATE putting my big tough girl off (AGAIN!) but _this chapter needs to happen, too._

And yes I KNOW drive doesn't actually work like that but they need to _RELATE OK!?_

* * *

Chapter twenty:

No one reacted to his transformation like Sora did. Daxter said it was cool—but it unnerved him, Jak knew that. He felt it every time it happened, the tell-tale tightening in his fingers, his fur standing on end, but not with static. Tess kept a level head but Jak knew she hated it. She was always a little guarded around him, covered it up with a jovial smile and a bounce in her step. Torn, Ashelin, Sig—they acted like they were not afraid, but he knew they were, deep down. Keira was the only one he knew that actually _admitted_ to being afraid. It hurt him when she said it, it hurt even more when he knew she was _right_ to be afraid, just like everyone else, but it did not hurt as much as dishonesty. At least she knew he could handle the truth.

Sora knelt down beside him, "Are you okay, Jak?"

Jak pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and pushed himself onto is knees, "W-what happened?"

"You lunged for a heartless behind me, but I think Donald thought you were lunging _at_ me, so he hit you with a thunder spell and it caused a chain reaction that killed every Heartless around, and I guess it reversed the transformation, 'cause you don't look so scary anymore."

Jak moved his fingers to his neck, pulse seemed fine, chest did not hurt. He was breathing okay. Had he gotten too good at checking his own vital signs? "H-how many volts?"

"Dunno. Not fatal, obviously." he reached for his arm. There were smears of soot on his arms, a few burns. A small hole in his sleeve. Most people were afraid to touch him after seeing what he could do. Not Sora. He got right in there, hand on his shoulder, hand on his elbow, like he was getting ready to lift him up by hooking his arm around his neck. He was too kind for his own good. He asked again, "Jak, are you okay?"

His upper back was burning. Jak only let out a small groan. He had gotten used to masking pain. He could take way more hits before going down these days—way more hits than he could when he was fifteen, at least. A little bolt of lightning was nothing.

Sora was persistent, "Jak? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Barely felt it."

"That... That's not want I mean."

"Then _say_ what you _mean." _Jak glared at him out of the corner of his eye because he knew what Sora meant. He meant to dig into the past. Just like everyone else. That was not a _have you been injured_ tone of voice. That was not a _do you need medical help_ tone of voice_. _That was a _have you worked through this trauma yet_ tone of voice.

"Okay." His voice was soft, small, tinged with the fear Jak had grown used too. Sora let him go, then scooted away, swallowed, like he was bracing himself, probably taking a moment to collect his thoughts and reflect upon what he had seen, come to terms with his own frail mortality. He clasped his hands together, squeezed them between his knees. Jak looked down at the cracked blue stone. He did not want to know the expression on Sora's face. Someone as innocent and pure as him should never know that _things like him_ existed.

He flung his hands back suddenly, "_The shit was that?!_"

"Sora!"

"Watch your mouth!"

Sora put his hand on his hip and gestured at nothing, his wildly flying free hand nearly hitting Jak in the ear as he turned his head to look at him. He was talking to Donald, "Are you just gunna _ignore_ it?"

"No, Sora." The Dog... thing said in a level voice, "But we aren't gunna ignore that _word,_ either."

"Guuuuuuys!" Sora whined like they had asked him to clean his room or eat his greens, his voice getting exaggerated, "_Bigger picture_."

Donald rounded on him, "Did he learn it from _you?"_

"I could have _killed him_ and all you care about is the fact that he knows a few extra words_?"_

"Yeah!" Sora pointed at his chest, "Yeah! I nearly fucking _died."_

It sounded stupid when he said it. Jak slouched down again to hide the fact that he was laughing. He had done irrevocable damage. He had doomed the words with a careless tongue and out of control emotions. It was hilarious.

Donald was aghast, "_Sora!_"

Jak rolled onto his back, his head falling backwards he was laughing so hard. He raised a hand to cover his eyes, sliding his fingers through his hair, feeling the torn skin at the base of his horns, feel his fingernails threaten to fall out. Sora leaned forward onto his hands and looked him over, "You okay?"

Jak raised his hand, very nearly touched Sora's shoulder. He expected him to pull back—Sora did not move. Jak was the one that pulled back. He stopped laughing, "Are _you?"_

"Yeah, its... It's not a big deal_. _If you can laugh it off, I guess I don't have to freak out, you know?"

"Well, that's..." Stupid. Foolhardy. Very nearly sagely, "Nice of you."

"Nice of you to say." Sora replied, sitting back on his heels and folding his arms, "But seriously! The shit _was_ that?"

Jak sat up, rubbed his head. There was a throbbing pain behind his left eye. That was about it. Cluster headaches. Never got tired of those. "I need to talk to you about—"

"Ooooooh no!" Sora grabbed his arm and tugged him to his feet, "Ansem is old news! He's dead and gone and he doesn't matter anymore! We're gunna talk about _you."_

"But _Sora—_!"

"No buts!" Sora said immediately. He plunged a hand into a pocket and took a small, finger-sized vial out. He pressed it into Jak's palm, "Drink this for the pain and get ready to spill your guts. We're gunna talk about you for hours. No Xehanort. No Ansem. No Heartless. No Nobodies."

"But suppose I don't _want_ to talk about myself for hours?"

He had already talked about himself for hours.

Sora gave it serious thought, but he did not let him go. Jak surrendered, drank the liquid in the vial—gritty, thick, sweet and bitter. Like equal parts oil and sugar. The burning on his back intensified as the wound healed, the cuts on his fingers, under his hair, in his mouth stitched themselves back together—and then the pain was gone. Sora gave his elbow a tug, then placed a hand between his shoulder blades and got too close for Jak's liking. He had no boundaries.

"We'll be fine!" Sora waved his retainers away, "Go on, Donald, Goofy, Go... Go talk to Merlin or something. See if he's okay."

Goofy. The talking bipedal dog's name was Goofy.

_Someone's_ mother had been very vindictive.

Jak tried, with no subtlety or success, to peel Sora away from him, "You really aren't scared?"

"Pfff. Give me a little credit." Sora let go of him briefly to pick up Pooh's story book. There were three gashes across the cover. He dusted it off, clearly worried. Jak wished he was worried enough to brush him off. Jak never _wanted_ to want to be brushed off for a fictional bear again—but today? Yes. Today it was exactly what he wanted. Sora held the book, but ignored it. "I'm the Keyblades's _Chosen One. _I know you think I'm just some kid—don't tell me you don't its written all over your face. You're thinking it right now. But in my opinion, I've seen some pretty serious shit. I've fought a million things scarier than _that_. Chernabog, Ansem _and_ his guardian. Ansem in World of Chaos... The Phantom... I've fought the _Lord of the Dead! _You're scarier than, like a _guard_ armor. _Maybe._.. And, yeah, you're scarier that run-of-the-mill heartless, too... Why don't you come with us? Fight a few Darksides, what _you do _might not seem so terrible after that! I could introduce you to people—the Beast, mainly... I think you'd both benefit from a chat, you know?"

Sora wanted to impress him. He was trying to act casual, play down his own accomplishments, but he was beaming and could not keep it out of his face. He was grinning, big and toothy, his eyes a little too wide, watching him, judging his reactions. Jak, for the most part, still wanted to leave but he was less keen on leaving with Sora now. He had thought Sora was a little tougher to chew. The kid had saved the _universe_.

But Jak looked at him and he saw himself.

A distant memory of himself, sure. Sora was only two years younger than him. He was the same age he had been when he started on his first real adventure—went to Gol and Maia's Citadel to try and get Daxter's old body back. That was a world away. _Sora_ was a world away.

He needed to stay that way.

Jak needed to stay away from him.

When he saw Jak was not going to be impressed with his victories and war trophies, Sora tried a different approach. Jak was not sure what Sora read on his face. Maybe there was nothing, but his face seemed to get away from him sometimes.

"Can I be really honest?"

"You've been lying this whole time?"

"No!" Sora did not get the quip. He fiddled with his hands, skinny fingers massaging his knuckle, the third one. Probably the one that had absorbed the impact from a few more punches than it should have. His fingernails were broad, flat, chipped and peeling off in layers, "Remember how I said I hadn't seen home in a year?"

There was a pause. Was he waiting for him to answer? "...Yes?"

"I was _asleep._ I don't know why. I don't know how long. All I remember is beating Ansem, seeing home restored, and walking down a path—then waking up in Twilight Town. I was scared that a lifetime had passed, that maybe the price for getting home back was that I'd never see it again—and I told myself I was okay with it but... But really I wasn't. Donald and Goofy did not think it was possible, said there isn't any sort of cosmic tax on good deeds. They told me I was being silly. I saw Leon and Aerith here, so it hasn't been too long, but... Ever since I woke up, I've been looking for my friend, Riku. He's a lot like you, but I haven't found him yet and I'm really worried... What if the price was Riku? What if I've been asleep this whole time and he's been wandering in the darkness? What if he died in it? When I could have helped?"

Jak's fingernails dug into his palm. If he had not been healed, they would have peeled back with the force. He felt a little choked up. He did not usually _do_ choked up—but he knew that fear. The slow, cold dawning fear _everyone you've ever known is dead. Gone. And you could have saved them._

Maybe Sora was not a world away, after all.

"Until I do I'd just... Really like to have someone my own age to talk too. Donald and Goofy are great but... you know, they're—_not fifteen_. They tease me about Kairi all the time." he got red in the face, "It's _embarrassing_._"_

Jak had watched him speak, as equals, to a stuffed bear roughly ten minutes ago. He did not think shame and embarrassment were sensations Sora was actually familiar with. He kept his trap shut about it.

"Will you come with us? Please?"

Jak... was not sure what he wanted to do. Sora would want to vent, and he was not good at listening quietly. After he vented, he would want advice, not on Heartless, either. Those were pretty straight forward, not a lot to figure out there. He would want day-to-day advice:_ What do I do with myself when I get home?! What do I do when it's all over? Just walk away? What about Kairi? I mean—come on! I saved her! How can I date her now with out feeling like she's only doing it because she feels pressured? How do I avoid getting jealous when she doesn't?_

The only advice Jak had to give was _bad_ advice. Jak was never good at offering personal council—he could come up with good ideas on how to destroy things, sure, but day to day life? The fuck did he know about ordinary life? His life had never been ordinary.

Sora was still staring at him.

Jak had gotten used to prying eyes very quickly when he had been locked up. Still, Sora's unrelenting, innocent, expectant gaze unnerved him. Just a little. It was weird.

But he had his attention now—Jak wondered what he should do with it. The first thing would be to get him to Kairi's Grandmother, but he had no idea where Leon and Aerith had tucked her away. He just knew she would rest a little easier knowing her granddaughter was alright.

"Are you worried? That you'll transform again and hurt me?"

It was not entirely true, but lying was simpler, "Yes."

"Don't worry. I can take a hit." Then his eyes skirted away, "Besides, I... I kinda... Do the same thing?"

"What? Are you joking?"

"No. Not joking at all." Sora tugged at his jacket collar, laughed nervously. Jak was not sure if it was because he was fibbing or because he felt odd confessing it. "These clothes. They were gifts from three fairies, when Goofy gets too tired to fight these clothes allow me to use his powers, share his experience, his memories... Use two Keyblades. I've learned a lot about him, things I don't think he would ever tell me. I've known him for a year and... He never told me he had a son. His name is Max... We fuse—it's kind of like we're sharing this body but I'm in control. Some day I think I'll be able to do it with Donald, too, because one time... In the Beasts castle, just a few days ago... Something went wrong and I took both... and I wound up looking a little more like a heartless than I should."

If it was a lie, he sure thought it up quick. Jak was not entirely sure what to say or believe, "You assimilate your friends in the heat of battle?"

"Yes."

Jak was not surprised that went wrong.

"You want to try it?"

"No! I don't want to fuse with you and show you my memories. My memories suck."

Sora frowned, clearly, he wanted to know ever damn detail. Jak did not want to give him _any_ damn detail. The universe depended on Sora being a happy child—Jak was not going to tromp his personal dirt all over him.

"I'm doing you a favor." he warned. He took a quick step away and Sora looked a little offended by it, a little resigned. He must have thought only mean people had boundaries. Fine—no one ever said Jak was nice.

Sora clearly did not believe him. The kid was like a sponge. Jak stood next to him and he felt his pain being siphoned away behind those blue eyes that had could never see evil, even when it was spread out in front of him, and pumped some place deep, deep down. Jak honestly felt better just _looking_ at him. It was weird. He did not like it. That pain had to go _somewhere, right?_

Where did it go?

"So just tell me the _good_ bits." Sora shrugged, just a little, "If you got your powers some bad way, fine. Don't tell me. The way doesn't matter and I don't care. Tell me the good things."

"Good things?"

"Yeah. The good things. There must be something you miss, right?"

Jak did not have to think too hard. He missed Daxter, he missed Keira. He felt guilty that he had failed. He assumed if he had gotten a Keyblade, things would have been different. Maybe not. Maybe when the heartless want something, a world, a particular heart, they get it, Keyblade or not. Sora's own world had been lost. He had watched it slip away when the power to stop it was just out of his reach.

Sora was not a world away.

They walked up the stairs to the market place. Sora put his hand on the railing and looked up at the sky. A little smoke still clouded the air. Sora's eyes followed the trail to the little piece of town that had come back, all on its own. The fire still smoldered, but the wind had shifted slightly. He looked curious, just curious enough to ask. Jak wished he would.

Sora did not ask. He leaned on the wooden railing that kept people on the walkway from falling into the market square below and stared at Pooh's torn-up story book, traced a thumb over the cover, "Were... More alike than you think."

Jak knew he was right, but he did not want to risk digging himself deeper into their heart-to-heart. He was still thinking about what was best. On the one hand, Stitch _needed_ a Keyblade bearer to restore his world. —if it had not been already. So did Jak. He knew this—but Leon was right, it did not have to happen while he was there. But he was not about to swallow his pride and admit that. Not to Leon, at least. He was not going to just _stay here_, either. He did not want that. He was not a passive waste of space and he never wanted to be.

He leaned back on the fence, crossed his arms and he saw Stitch, still skirting around, keeping an eye on them. Jak wanted Stitch to make the choice. He wondered why he was not being a little bit more vocal, but maybe this many people was coming as a shock to him. He had been alone for nine years.

Jak knew what he would choose. He would choose Sora. He would probably choose Sora with out Jak, and Jak was fine with that. Stitch could make his own choices. On the other hand—

Sora gasped.

Jak glanced at him. His eyebrows shot up, his jaw plunged down. He pushed himself away from the fence, locking his elbows and gripping it tight. "Holy _shit_!"

Jak covered his eyes with his hand. He had taken an innocent kid and created a monster. A swearing, excitable monster. He was worse than his creators. "_Stop that!_"

Sora let go of the fence and did not bother with the stairs to Jak's left. He cleared it in one jump, stupidly huge shoes slamming hard against the street. He bolted for the opposite end of the square. Jak shook his head, rolled his eyes, and picked up Pooh's story book from where it had fallen. Probably just a Heartless. He was a naive idiot, but he could handle a Heartless or two on his own.

Of course, it was quiet for a heartless attack. Jak straightened up, looked across the square while dusting off the book. Sora skidded to a halt in front of Kairi's grandmother. He was heaving with excitement and probably grinning like a madman. She looked a little startled. Jak smirked to himself. That was one loose end tied up nicely with a bow—but it raised another question.

How did he _recognize_ her?

Jak would wait until he came back around to ask. He did not want to interrupt a beautiful moment with a trivial detail. Questions could wait, at least this time around.

Jak waited five minutes. Sora took her bags from her while she sat down to rest on the wall.

Jak waited ten minutes. Stitch climbed on the fence and watched, but did not say anything.

Jak did not wait fifteen minutes. Stitch stayed, probably to ditch him because he was smart and knew he did not want to go, at least, not with Sora. If he stayed here, he would get hungry and eventually come back. Jak went back to Merlin's place, dropped the book on a table and walked out. Donald gave him a hard side-eye Sora may want him along, but he got the feeling Donald would allow it. Goofy seemed a little more open to suggestion. He introduce himself properly, smiled, and shook his hand. From there, he went to Leon's place, went down the stairs to the basement.

A man in a black cloak was standing there.

Jak stared stupidly. The fellow kept his hood up so he did not see his face. He saw the tip of a nose, that was about it. It was sharp, it could have been dark. It could have been the dim light. There was a sack in his hands, heavy, by the way he held it.

"Lea!?"

The stranger jumped, then vanished as quickly as he must have appeared. The sack in his hands dropped to the table, hitting it so hard the whole thing rattled and shifted a half inch and the room echoed with the dull thud. His hammer clattered to the floor. The draw string popped open and some of the contents spilled out over the table. A little stream dropped in a straight line to the floor, where it pooled, then piled.

Sand.

Jak caught the last of the sand as it fell. He rubbed it against his fingers, letting it fall into his palm, work itself into the folds of his hand.

Sand was like a finger print. Shells of tiny sea creatures, bits of rock too weary to hold together anymore, the smallest chips of salt-worn glass. Jak thought of the Wasteland, what little he had seen, Sandover Village, Sentinel Beach, the fine powder at the source of the river that wound through the Forbidden Jungle, mostly limestone. On the beaches from his childhood the sand was a little red, a little orange. Warm-toned and even-grained. Considering the birth of his world, Jak would even say it looked _artificial._ The Sand from the pumping station, on the very lip of the Wasteland, was white, cool to the touch despite hours of relentless sun. If Hollow Bastion had beaches and waves and tides, the sand would probably be a very pale blue, maybe dark. Jak could hardly imagine that, a beach of dark sand, the white of the waves would stand out so clearly, even in the darkest of nights.

Some grains in his hand were older, finer, other were rougher, more coarse, less worn. In a good light it would look a little pink, but in the light of the workshop it looked like a muted grey-brown. He could smell the salt. He could feel the waves.

Jak poured the bag into the handle of his hammer and wrapped it in cord.

* * *

The REAL reason is that I don't want to write the exact events of KH 2... With the addition of Jak. That's boring.

Jak has to go around and do his own thing because he's not going to be genuine around Sora. He'd be guarded and he would not speak his mind, because he feels like Sora only _works_ because he sees people as intrinsically good and if Jak talked about his bad past, there'd be one less Keyblade on the field.

It's the reason I included Tess and Daxter. Variety. Tess REALLY goes off and does her own thing.

Daxter's not going to do much by way of keeping Kairi from getting kidnapped, though.

Spoiler alert. Kairi gets kidnapped.


	22. Chapter 21

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

* * *

Chapter twenty one:

The world came into focus on a strange ceiling. Tess blinked. In an attempt to add some interest in the room, they were diagonal to the wall. She tried to sit up, then she moaned. Her chest ached. Her side hurt. She turned her head. There was a glass wall, partly covered with closed, vertical blinds. There were people walking around behind it. There was a light pressure on her finger and she heard faint beeping. She looked down at her chest. There was a palm-sized, branching mark on her sternum. It could have been worse. It could have been a real bullet. This would heal. She touched her side. A little pain. She could feel stitches.

Those would heal, too.

The door opened, the vertical blinds were flung back. Tess turned her head. Her body protested from her neck all the way down her rib-cage.

"Just what I need!" It was a woman. She strode forward easily, precisely, "_Another_ punk who thinks that it is _their_ job to clean up the streets!"

Tess would have spoken in her defense, but all she could manage was a weak, "Ooooh..." before her head plopped back down on the pillow and those slanting ceiling tiles gave her a feeling of vertigo and she had to close her eyes. It did not help.

_That_ must be Sheriff Steiner. She was a tall woman, very curvy. So curvy her state-issue uniform was noticeably altered, tailored at the waist, the shoulders, which were quite narrow, and the arms, which were slim and long, but it was still not quite right. Her top three buttons remained undone. She had no choice. She wore a cream-colored, lacy camisole underneath. Her badge gleamed so brightly the majority of folks did not notice the cleavage. She had the most peculiar, ash brown curls, her hair ended in spirals like sea shells, bounced when she moved, but never unraveled.

Tess wanted to argue—but all she could manage was a strange grunt. Her mouth was too dry, her body to stiff. No one said the Keyblade put her above the law. Sheriff Steiner grinned a little, smugly, folded her arms, "Disorderly conduct, disobeying a deputized officer of the law, public rowdiness, carrying an unlicensed weapon, and truancy—and incredible courage. If you were of age, I would have let you onto the force in a heartbeat—such a shame. Highclock County could have used an officer like you."

"What?"

"I'll let you off off with a warning."

From her right, a voice exclaimed sharply, "Hey!"

Her eyes closed, and she sounded mad, but Tess got the feeling she did not really mean it. "You do _not_ get off with a warning, Seifer Almasy."

"_I am head of the Twilight Town Disciplinary Committee."_

"The charter for that organization was rejected. _Three times_. Honestly, Seifer!" she left Tess's bedside and went to his, "Why can't you do... something normal? Baseball? _Tennis_? You like struggle, don't you? Why don't you try fencing? Just try it? For a week? You clearly _need_ an outlet. You'll be eighteen soon, Seifer—and things like this _will_ count against you."

Seifer groaned. He had a dark bruise on his cheek, bandages wrapped around his head, a burn mark on his hand. He did not look too hurt. He looked like he wanted to cross his arms and pout, but his wrists were cuffed to the bed. Clearly, he was no stranger to just walking out of hospitals.

"Is Olette okay? Where is she?"

"Olette is fine!" Seifer replied, clearly offended at the very idea, "He roughed me up, said his name was Xigbar, and left. Olette did the smart thing and called the hospital. He didn't touch her."

Xigbar. His name was Xigbar. Now if only she had a face to match with it. She had never seen his. Tess clenched her teeth, her hand closed on the bed rail. She would not forget that. She felt around, looked down, and found the little remote to adjust the hospital bed. Some things did not change. She raised the bed, allowing herself to sit a little more upright, turned her head to look outside. She was two stories up, looking out over the city, shining a warm orange in the earliest rays of morning, a cloudless dawn, the sun was golden, the blue sky was pale in comparison. Tess took a breath, put at ease by the sight. Haven City's sunrise was always dull, the first rays of light hitting the wall that reached higher than all but the palace. Only the Baron got to see the morning sun. This was the first time in her life she had seen the sunrise.

It made her hungry.

She wanted to get up, get some food, take a bath, change into some of the fresh clothes she had bought with Olette. She felt fine—besides, who was going to pay for this? Setzer? The Sheriff? Seemed unlikely. The longer she stayed, the more she payed.

"Who is paying for this?"

Beatrix tilted her head, her curls bounced, her eyebrows knitted, and both of her brown eyes focused on her, "Your heart stopped. You've been attacked by a man who is _clearly_ unhinged, and your question is '_Who's paying for this?' _What kind of city did you come from?_"_

"I know its not _free_." Tess did not want to start fresh with medical bills _and_ a rap sheet—even if she was getting let off with a warning, this time. This was probably not going to be her last run in with the law, "Nothing is free. Who is paying for it?"

It was not that she did not want to tell her. It was that she did not know. "An... Anonymous benefactor. No sooner had you been carried into the ER than a sack of money just... _appeared_ on the director's desk. There was a note, said it was for your treatment. It's legal tender. I checked it myself."

Tess did not like the sound of that. It could have been lie, meant to calm her down and make her rest, but heroes never rested. Jak rarely got a wink of decent sleep, and as far as Tess was concerned, he set the _bar_ for heroics. But what if it was true? There really was someone willing to pay her medical bills? That aide was conditional. Everyone had a motive, everyone had an angle—big money meant big motives. "Please tell me the director has cameras in his office."

"Why... _would he_?" Sheriff Steiner asked. She genuinely did not understand.

Tess's eyes slid around the room, wishing it could hold some clues. If it was conditional, she supposed her 'anonymous benefactor' would not remain unknown for long. Hopefully, it was not Xigbar or his Organization pulling her chain, but who else could it be? Who else flashy enough to leave a sack of money? Setzer, sure, but there was no reason for him to sneak around. Xigbar had proved he was able to warp, hide in plain sight, too. A simple _office_ with no cameras was no obstacle to him. He could be standing in the corner, invisible, _right now._

_Good bye sleep._

_Nothing_ was off limits to someone capable of opening doors in the air itself. Xigbar could have snatched her up while they were laying here, useless. Tess felt very powerless suddenly. He could do what ever he pleased. Try to strike him, he would vanish, try to grab hold of him, he would slip through her fingers. Her hand tightened on the bed rail.

Beatrix Steiner said nothing. Tess wondered where Olette was, if Xigbar had not snatched her from her own bed in the middle of the night. Was it a school day? It seemed likely that she would be there, turning in her late summer homework. It might be too early in the day for that. Had classes started already, or...?

Sheriff Steiner folded her arms, "I want your word."

They both jumped. Tess glanced at Seifer. Seifer glanced at her. She looked back at the Sheriff. She drummed her finger against her elbow, nails buffed, not polished, the manicure of the hard-working woman, "The safety of Twilight Town is not your job."

They both protested, Seifer trying to sit up though he was strapped down, Tess waving her arm—she could barely hear herself over the sound of their shared indignation.

"He targeted _me_ specifically!"

"He stepped on my turf!"

"_He called me toots."_

Sheriff Beatrix nodded, as if she considered these very serious offenses. Tess did not know if she was being patronizing or serious, but she insisted. "This man has committed a crime, yes, and you two were victims—but _I_ am Sheriff in this town."

"But he isn't even _from here_!" Seifer gave his restraints a shake. They were soft, made of plush foam and strips of fabric. It hardly had the auditory impact he was looking for. Tess would have laughed if it was not so serious—also, if her side was not already split open.

Sheriff Steiner frowned, "Tess, you will be meeting your foster parents this afternoon at six fifteen. Seifer, you will be discharged when you _calm down_." He was still shaking his restraints. Beatrix was still talking, "Tomorrow, you will _both_ go to school and you will _both_ join Coach Tribal's Fencing Team and you will _stop_ playing hero."

Tess grumbled, "Xigbar isn't going to stop playing villian!"

Sheriff Steiner's frown deepened. Her pretty, round face got shockingly dark and she moved a hand to the night stick at her hip. Tess thought to tell her it would do nothing, she would need a gun—but she remembered guns were not allowed here. Still, a night stick was not going to do much. Not against a gun. She knew Tess was right, Xigbar was not going to stop but Twilight Town was not paying her to sit back and let teenagers fight grown men. There were rules for a reason, and the good people of the county _paid taxes_ for a reason—that reason was to keep their kids _safe_, not put them in the line of fire. Beatrix Steiner opened her mouth, like she was going to say something ominous and final like, _he will. _But she reconsidered, said nothing, turned on her heel and clipped down the hall until she was just very distinct foot falls that vanished after the soft ping of the elevator.

Tess sunk down in the bed, uncomfortable rubber sheets clinging against her skin. Seifer started making a real effort to work himself out of his restraints. Tess wondered if she should go, where her clothes were. If she slipped out, would she be brought back and tied up? She was not keen on just laying there, waiting for Xigbar to turn up again. Xemnas, who ever he was, was not likely to order him to _stand down_, was he? If she was caught and brought back, she was not interested in waiting for Xigbar to return to find her _tied up_.

So she waited.

She had a few visitors in the morning, the first was Olette, a welcome sight, on her way to school, lugging a suitcase as well as a backpack with her, stuffed full of her clothes, so she would not have to run around wondering where they had gotten too, and also because Xigbar's powerful, bordering on supernatural, gun had burned a hole in her shirt, and it was ruined.

"But there's still a set in my room." She smiled as she took a second to shrug of her backpack and sit down on the bed, "I get the feeling it's gunna be hard to get you to sleep over, otherwise."

"I don't Xigbar knowing where you live. His job isn't done. Be careful."

She took out a can of mace, gave it a little shake, "I think I'll be okay."

Then she gave her hand a squeeze, and left, waving good-bye.

Tess settled in again, ate a bland breakfast and avoided making eye contact with Seifer.

Then Setzer blew in like a tempest.

She nearly choked on a spoon. Again.

His eyes were tired, his voice loud, but not shouting, "What were you trying to accomplish? Just what were you trying to prove?"

As far as she was concerned, only the Sherrif and Deputy out ranked her. He would not talk down to her. And he _would stop_ making her nearly _die_ during breakfast. "I'm a Keyblade Wielder. It's my job."

"Really? A job? So soon?" he demanded, his voice was low, level, this was the most civil and aloof scolding Tess had ever received, "Who's got you on payroll? Did they hire Olette, too? What about Seifer? Are they approved by the council? If I call the Chamber of Commerce—"

"Not like _that!_ It's my duty."

"You nearly _died._" he gave his hand a great flourish, making his silky white sleeve flutter, "If Miss Alexandros had not been there to get you breathing again, you _would have_. I've not no idea what kind of city you came from before, perhaps it does fall upon the youth to enforce the laws where you come from, and perhaps you miss it—"

"If you're going to lecture someone, go lecture Seifer! He's the one that came charging in _after_ me."

"Seifer _likes_ being in hospitals." Setzer replied, dismissively.

Seifer was quiet, but the mean look on his face spoke volumes.

"Then why is he tied up?"

"He likes being chased down. He likes the attention."

Seifer raise his middle finger and wrinkled his nose, but he was otherwise silent, caught. Tess glanced at him, still laying down, and she wondered what Setzer meant by that. If she thought about it, Setzer seemed a little eccentric, sure, but otherwise normal. The Steiners, married law enforcement in a peaceful little town, were so abnormally ordinary it was jarring. Hayner, Pence, Olette; they did not have a care in the world. Seifer... roamed the streets at night. That did not fit with the template Twilight Town presented, where everyone was happy, everyone was safe.

This world was perfect.

But his was not.

Tess felt sorry for him.

Setzer cleared his throat. He glanced away, looked a little nervous, like he knew he had over stepped his boundaries, "If a man named Kuja King comes by, I suggest you do not speak with him."

"I wouldn't want to speak to anyone with _King_ in their name, anyway."

_Kings_ had given Haven City a sour taste. So had _barons. _Tess was firmly against royalty.

"Good girl." he said, nodding curtly. There was silence. He took out his wallet, and Tess worried he was going to give her even _more _money. He took out a business card, "If you need to find me."

Then he left.

Tess felt a strange mix of fondness and revulsion.

The parade of visitors did not end. Sometime before lunch a older girl came in, said her name was Terra Branford. She gave Seifer a side eye and her a few school books, a class schedule, and some school supplies. Tess thanked her but they both knew she did not mean it. She did not remember much about her except for a high, curly pony-tail and a red t-shirt.

After lunch, the nurses gave her something for the pain, even though she was not in much, and she slept until about two, maybe three, in the afternoon. When she woke up the curtain was pulled so she did not see the clock. She turned her head, asked, softly, "Seifer?"

His voice sounded like wounded pride, "What?"

She wanted to ask about his parents.

But she did not want to know the answer.

Sometime later, after Seifer refused to tell her time time—to be fair, he might have been asleep—a man that managed to look both slimy _and_ well-groomed came in. He introduced himself as Kuja King. His hair was platinum blond, half-heartedly slicked back, like he knew all the pomade in the world would not keep it in its place, and only bothered because he thought people liked the way it gracefully feathered around his eyes. There were ink and graphite stains on his cuffs, he had a press badge and _damn_ he was pretty. She wondered why Setzer told her not to speak with him. He looked like they shopped at the same store. It seemed like the same place that sold gold-trimmed coats would sell almost-lavender fedoras with silver feathers pinned to the crown.

Still, she told him to get out but he pulled up a chair and told her, "You really must talk to me, its for the comfort of the town, you know."

He smiled big, but in that giddy, on the edge of his seat kind of way that let her know he was just _itching_ to work sleepy Twilight Town into a hysterical frenzy over that dangerous, dangerous man in black that attacked defenseless little girls and even managed to bruise the mighty Seifer.

No wonder Setzer told her to keep her mouth shut.

Years of living in Haven City had taught her to be quiet good at evading questions, but the further she slipped, the more intrigued he got. He had not met an obstacle, he had met an _adversary. _As they talked, his smile grew brighter and bigger and Tess got the feeling he had not enjoyed himself like this in years.

When he left all of his teeth were showing and he had not written a single thing down.

So Tess settled in again. Noticed she had the remote, so she turned on the television, wondered how quickly Kuja King, the spin doctor, would send her story spinning into the town and knocking it into a panic. All she caught was the same soap opera from yesterday, some flashy, mostly-stock-footage animated show. She shut it off again.

Visitors popped in again. This time, it was Olette, followed closely by Hayner and Pence and a quiet woman with short, dark hair that went to Seifer's side of the room first. Tess heard her undoing his restrains. He did not say anything. Hayner wasted no time stealing a chair from Seifer's side of the room, and declaring, "You absolutely _HAVE _to come with us to Ms. Tribal's room tomorrow."

"Why?"

"She _failed us!_"

"What?"

"The _report!" _Olette looked for another chair. Finding none, she nudged Tess's feet aside, sat down on the mattress, "I was up half the night working on it and_ s_he didn't believe it."

"It does sound a little... fantastic."

"Yeah, but everyone in school was talking about you." Hayner's voice had the slightest edge of a whine, "Besides, _she has a—_"

"The egg will be all over her face when I show up to sign up for the fencing club."

"Huh?"

"Two very, _very_ different Tribals." Pence pointed, crossing his wrists to demonstrate just have different the two were, "And you'd get more out of Kendo, anyway."

What was... _Kendo_? She had assumed fencing was a type of swordplay, surely it was not a team dedicated to building fences _competitively_—but then why would a school have _two_ swordplay groups? Was Coach Tribal responsible for them both? She did not want to look foolish and ask. Tomorrow would come soon enough, with lessons she did not want to learn and books she could not read. Olette jumped, as if she remembered something, "Oh, that's right. Miss Ruby asked me to give you this. She forgot to give it to Terra. We'll be reading in it class tomorrow, so study up!"

Tess looked down at the book. A man in a black cloak was standing under two moons. It looked interesting. Too bad she was illiterate. She was certain they would let her be free once they figured it out. It would be too much trouble to teach her to read all over again. Nobody would take on the task, except maybe Olette. They would let her go, let her get a job, hopefully. She would rather work. It was better than sitting around, and it was not she had hobbies that could occupy her time. If _guns_ were not allowed here, then _the components to make guns_ were just as illegal. Gun-smithing was a past time she could kiss good-bye.

What was she going to do with herself; no job, no hobbies?

"You'd think, when even the student Council President has seen someone, _twice_ you would not refuse to believe they exist, right?"

"Terra's seen me before?"

"Yeah. She came running when Miss Alexandros shouted for help, when she was getting your heart pumping again."

"She's so cool!"

She wondered if Olette was talking about Miss Alexandros or Terra Branford, and for a little while she tried to recall what Miss Alexandros looked like. She might have come to for just a moment, enough to see a face. She glanced at the curtain. The dark haired woman moved, dragged her fingers quietly along the bedrail, then came over to Tess' side of the room. She wore a white dress, an orange cardigan folded over her arms. She brushed her hair across her forehead, and Tess saw the pale remains of a scar, right by the hairline. Deliberate, surgical.

But Tess had a bigger question. If her heart _had_ stopped, would she have died, or become a Heartless? Was that was Xigbar wanted? To turn her into a Heartless? Why? To keep her from killing them, she supposed. If she lost her heart, she would lose her Keyblade, Xigbar and his white husks and Organization XIII... they might not be Heartless, but a Keyblade was probably a threat to _them,_ too. Clearly, they were not normal, _and_ they already had one Key to worry about. Sora. Tess had never met him, but if he was able to freely travel worlds, he must be strong. Too strong to easily pick off. Xigbar had been sent to eliminate her... because she was weaker? Because they though she would be easy to get rid of?

That burned.

But if Xigbar wanted to kill her, he could have done a cleaner job of it. She had slept the night through. He could have slipped in, cut her throat, and it would be done. It would be over in the blink of an eye.

Xigbar must have gone running back to Xemnas with the news of her, he had clearly been excited about it. She had though he would not be ordered to stand down—what if he had acted rashly? What if he was ordered to bide his time? What if he even got reprimanded for it? She hoped so. He needed to be taken down a peg.

It was five in the afternoon, and she was just laying here. If Xigbar was going to make a habit of popping up, he would have done it by now. Olette had not said anything about him, and if he had shown his face again, she _would_ have said something.

While Olette went through her schedule, told her if one of them would be in her class, Tess counted on her fingers. This made eight visitors for her, counting Olette only once. She was glad none of them were Xigbar, and she was due to get two more. Aside from nurses on official business, and the Sheriff, Seifer had yet to receive any.

The dark haired woman waved a light in front of her face while Olette spoke, tracking her eye movements, the response of her pupils. "You must be Miss Alexandros?"

"Yes. I am. You'll be seeing a lot of me. I'm the school nurse."

Tess got the feelings she could have been a good doctor, too, but for some reason she chose to be a spectacular nurse with mediocre pay instead of a mediocre doctor with spectacular pay. Tess was not going to complain or question the person that kept her alive.

Tess glanced at the curtain and felt bad for Seifer.

Then someone else came in, loud, blustering, "Seifer, Can't believe you're still cooped up here, ya'know?"

Tess heaved a sigh of relief.

* * *

If you have any unanswered questions, then the answer is probably _"the Precursors."_

If its not the Precursors, its Riku.


	23. Chapter 22

Taking Orders from Nobody:

And if the answer isn't "_Riku_" its _"Damas' Precursor Monks fucking around with the Heart of Mar Gem that was flung into Spargus and exists in two places because stable time loops have to have lasting, paradoxical consequences. And that consequence is Heartless."_

* * *

Chapter twenty-two:

Tess did not know what to wear.

An entire suitcase full of new clothes, and she did not know what to wear.

She close long pants. She did not want to meet the strangers she would be living with in shorts. She did not want to give them the wrong impression—though in this town she doubted she _could_ make a wrong impression. Either way, she was done shrinking under people's gazes for a while. A button-up, short-sleeved, green shirt that she did not bother tucking it in. She considered leaving her gloves off. Leather gloves with plated knuckles clearly meant for throwing punches, might make people wary, but she felt vulnerable with out them. She put them on, even though she was sure she was not going to be doing any punching.

Seifer had gone. Miss Alexandros had freed him and he had dressed, slipped away with Raijin and Fuujin, a nurse had come to check on him, gave the empty bed a sigh of resignation and her a look of _you should know better_ even though it was hardly her fault. Tess had brushed it off, went back to staring at the folded clothes in her beat-up, second-hand, metal suitcase.

She lugged her suitcase down to the lobby, alone, to await... Whoever was supposed to come get her.

No one had even _told her_. She had no face, no inkling, not even a name. Just a time. Six fifteen.

Of course, kids were clearly not orphaned every day in Twilight Town. There was probably not much of a system in place for cases like her—She was under the impression that the Steiners had taken care of everything, and they were smart enough, knew the town enough, not to put her with anyone that had a criminal record. Still, tucking away misplaced children was not a lawman's duty in Haven City. Imagine, the KG trying to find a home for every orphan made by the metal heads, or even made by their own hands.

Tess waited in the outpatient lobby. People came in, people left. It was not like people could miss her, but no one was looking for her. There was a glance or two—but news of her must have spread. If someone was living under a rock, maybe they would have missed the gossip, maybe they would have gaped at her long, sharp ears, but no one did.

At six fourteen exactly a car drove up. It remained there, like the people inside were waiting, debating, unsure if they were really sick enough to get out of the car. Tess looked at the counter, wondered if they were going to force them to move or not. They never did.

At six fifteen exactly, the doors opened and a man and a woman got out. They walked through the revolving doors together. They looked nice—but everyone here looked nice, so maybe it was a little more fair to say they did not look _too mean._

They stopped in front of the door. The woman adjusted her cuff, then her collar, then her hair, coiled away in a loose side bun, her pale eyes searching the lobby. She had a long neck, and everything matched, from her handbag to her shoes to her suit, it was all the same creamy champagne pink. She looked nervous and happy all at the same time. When she saw Tess, she gave her companion's arm a tug.

He twirled his mustache and did not take his eye off the pretty receptionist.

The woman's mood faded to bitter resignation. She walked forward, heels somehow managing to clip loudly against the carpet. She smiled, big, but it was not entirely genuine—not because she did not want to be there, but because her husband was a terrible embarrassment. Tess was not sure if he was walking towards them or not. She did not dare look. "Hilda Fabool."

"Tess Gildford."

"I'm so glad to meet you, Tess." She put her arms around her, but it was a kind of awkward, reserved hug, her arms hovering just a hair away from her clothes.

By the time Hilda had let her go, the man had walked up to her. He extended his hand, "Cid Fabool."

His hand shake was delicate at first, and then crushed it, "So glad I found someone in this town with a firmer handshake than me!"

Tess smiled, crushed his fingers right back. Hilda relaxed, just a little. Cid took her suitcase and Hilda took her arm, they took her out of the lobby, out of the hospital, to the waiting car. The engine was running, they lights were on, the finish was so perfect she could see herself. Cid put her case in the trunk and Hilda set her down in the back seat.

The car was sleek, freshly waxed and micro-buffed to just-off-the-lot perfection, bronze-colored, and long, with dark, shiny windows. There were four seats; the long bench seat against the trunk, that could fit two very comfortably, and two more between it and the driver, both free to swivel around, to face the road, the opposite window, the back. Tess moved to the chair closest to the driver who sat in the front seat, hands still on the front wheel. Her red hair was braided under her hat.

"Who are you?"

Tess barely heard it though the glass, "Erin."

She heard the trunk slam and watched Cid dust off his hands. Hilda climbed in, smoothing out her pencil skirt as he opened the door and sat right across from Tess.

They took her out to dinner at the best restaurant in town, the kind with three forks on the table settings, candles on the tables and a string quartet in the main dining room. The booths were so plush Tess would swear the stuffing must have been changed twice a week, and some of them were like private rooms, tucked-away and walled in, a private world. They were given one of these private little worlds, a corner booth meant for five people.

Tess could not read the menu so ordering took about half an hour. They told her to order anything she wanted, money was not a problem. Tess tried all the things she would never have the chance to try again. Lobster bisque, filet mignon with a creamy mushroom sauce and a side of barely wilted greens and roasted, spicy tomato, a salad with green apple and walnuts and a tangy dressing made of honey, yogurt and lime. Cid drank almost an entire bottle of hundred-dollar wine and she tasted tiramisu for the first time in her life.

They asked about where she was from, what her parents had been like. She left out the dangerous and illegal bits. She left out Xigbar, when the topic came up. When every corner of her life had been explored at exhausted, they talked about themselves. Cid Fabool was a retired engineer and architect—he was also a major investor in the hospital and had a seat on the board of directors. Most of his income came from stocks. Hilda was an interior designer.

When Tess was so full she was about to burst, they paid the check, left a generous tip, and went back to the car. It did not seem like Erin had been stuck waiting in the parking lot the entire time. There was a styrofoam cup in one cup holder and a crumpled paper bag in the other. Erin took a sip of it occasionally.

It was dark again, Erin took them through the few streets to what Tess _assumed_ was the wealthiest section of town. She hoped it was the wealthiest section. She did not want to think there were _richer_ people living in Twilight Town. The Fabools were rich enough, clearly living in a big house on a sprawling, manicured lawn with a decorative garden and a swimming pool in the back, with a butler and a maid _and_ a cook _and_ chauffeur, between two slightly _smaller_ houses with slightly smaller lawns, slight smaller decorative gardens, slightly smaller pools. The street they lived on was tucked away, from one side, it looked like there was nothing but apartments, a little walk-in clinic, an ice cream parlor, the news station, the other side, a store selling purified water by the gallon, which allowed patrons to bring their own five gallon jugs, what ever they wanted to put it in, organic foods, organic clothes, organic _everything._ A Yoga studio. This was a strange patch of green inside the cluttered, orange Twilight town. This was a little taste of country life inside the city.

Tess lugged her suitcase up the stairs, noting to herself that it was big enough to hide a body, heavy enough, too, also, that the Fabools probably had enough money to hire a private tutor, so she was gunna read whether she liked it or not. "Are you sure you don't want help with that, sweetie?"

She was careful not to let it touch the floor. She did not want it to scuff the varnish. "Yes, ma'am—"

"It's _Hilda_, dear!"

"—I'm sure."

The room, _her room_, was not bad, a bed, a dresser, a closet filled with padded hangers and two gown storage bags, a desk to do her school work, a balcony that jutted out from the side of the house. She had a view of the street, the neighbor's back yard, the swimming pool, the hedge maze with its gazebo big enough for a banquet in the middle. It was not what she would pick, clearly. Her room back in Haven was a minefield of loose bolts and scrap pieces of metal, the work bench pressed right up against her bed with a million technical manuals open on it. This one was yellow and lacy, the ultimate brain child of Hilda Fabool, interior designer extraordinaire, from the comforter on the bed to the curtains on the glass doors leading out to the balcony and the silk flowers on the desk. The floor was solid, varnished wood. Easy to clean, expensive, hard to sneak around on.

Tess set her suitcase down on the bed. It was big, clunky, dinged up. It looked out of place. She opened it up and started to unpack, the books she could not read on the desk, anything that would wrinkle on the closet, every thing else folded in the dresser.

Tess was not tired. Dinner weighed to heavy in her stomach and for her, this time of night still felt like the very early hours of the morning. Her mid-day nap did not help. Neither did the nagging feeling that Xigbar was clinging to the underside of her balcony, unseen and unheard. Tess flicked on the outside light and opened the doors. Outside she could hear the distant sounds of the city, the last few trains chugging along the tracks. Tess could see the bridge they ran on, going over the city, just above the trees and the top of someone else's house. Not many people had cars here. The Fabools were rich enough to avoid public transportation, others probably were, too—or antisocial enough to shell out for the privilege. There was one, white, not fresh off the lot but in good condition, parked right in front of the other house, Tess just saw a little corner of another one, scuffed-up, blue with a missing tail light, stuffed in behind the house like they were ashamed of it

Tess went back to her room, closing the door and the curtains. She set her stuff out on the bathroom counter, went back to her room. She still had a lot of energy.

Maybe it was that pent up energy, she had been in bed all day, maybe it was paranoia over Xigbar, but she felt like she was being watched. She supposed the normal thing to do would be to ignore it, focus on her homework in preparation for tomorrow, but she was unable to read it. There was not much she could do to distract herself. She got out clothes for the morning, she had only worn the jeans for a few hours, they were still clean enough. A short-sleeved yellow shirt, hung them on a hook on the door, still felt like she was being watched. She searched every corner of the room for a camera or a peep hole or Xigbar's eye—not like she knew what his eyes looked like. She looked behind the desk, under the bed, the dresser, the closet. She even got on the chair and checked the ceiling fan. She found nothing—but she still felt like she was being watched.

"Must just been the change of scenery." she muttered to herself. It was time for a bath—she was going to settle down and sleep whether she liked it or not. She went down into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of ice cold water—Hilda and Cid were quiet, absent. Maybe they were in bed already—she had spent quite a while searching her room. Tess went back upstairs and slipped into the hottest bath she could handle, even added bubble soap, and let the heat par-boil her into a half faint. She closed her eyes, let her self sweat out the stress until the bubbles were half-gone, the water felt luke warm and Tess wondered to herself what the entire point of a bubble bath even _was? _She remembered Keira saying something about using the stupidly fruity-smelling kinds to get the smell of oil off.

"I need some soft music..." she muttered to herself, lazily running a hand through the water.

Then she was apprehensive for a moment, and she half expected someone to port a violinist through her ceiling. No violinist came. She needed to be _really careful_ about what she said when she thought she was alone. Xigbar could be listening in any time.

She got out of the bath.

She still felt like she was being watched.

Except now, she was being watched in a _towel._

Quickly, she put on a pair of flannel shorts and a loose, soft t-shirt, then she split the curtains open, just a hair, looked at the neighbors place—a few lights were on but he did not seem to be camped by the closest one and looking at her though a pair of binoculars. She strained her eyes to see the street. There was no one there, and with the street lamps, they would be easy to see. She looked at the hedge maze. All the way out to the pool. Nothing.

She heaved a sigh, some of it was relief, some of it was because she was annoyed and frustrated with herself. She started to closer her eyes, she swallowed her gasp and jumped back. It was a freak chance that she had seen him—she wished she had not.

There was a tall, hooded figure on the lawn.

She stared at it. It stared at her. Clearly, they, who ever they were, ran tight with Xigbar. He had the same cloak on, from what she could tell, but he was more solidly built. This was a new one. This standoff continued for a few minutes, Tess waiting for him to move, he probably waiting for her to look away so he _could _move. Tess was fully prepared to stare at him all night.

After a while, maybe one minute, maybe two, the cloaked man gave up, turned on his heel and started walking towards the hedge maze. He vanished right out from under her gaze. Tess shot away from the window quickly, turned back to her room, careful not to scream and disturb the Fabools.

Nothing happened.

No one appeared in her room, though the stranger clearly knew she was there. She had not been very careful with the curtains. They might even be a little translucent. He probably saw her shadow. Tess waited for someone to appear in the center of the room or for hands to grab her from behind or for the ground to vanish below her feet as she was pulled outside against her will.

She heard a low voice in her ear, "_I'm in the hedge maze."_

Tess only moved to say, "Well get out of it."

"_I'm a friend."_

The voice was low, a little gravely, a little husky and did not sound friendly, so Tess hissed, "That's exactly what a member of Organization Thirteen would say."

He did not laugh this time, "_They found you already?_"

"Yes. They found me already. They work fast. There are thirteen of them. They can cover a lot of ground."

"_I'm not a member of Organization Thirteen._"

"Then you won't mind going away!"

He laughed, _"You've got a point there. One Keyblade bearer to another—I promise I'm a friend._"

"You have a Keyblade?"

Tess did not get an answer. She turned and opened the curtains again, looking to the maze. She saw him, a black shadow in the white gazebo. She narrowed her eyes—she was a fool to trust him. But if he really, really wanted to, he could have popped into her room and snatched her up—probably could have done it while she was in the bath. He was a gentleman about being evil, at least. Tess put her clothes back on. She was not running around in the dead of night in her pajamas.

She crept down the stairs. She slipped out the back door shutting it as quietly as she could, raced across the lawn, stopping at the very edge of the hedge maze. The stranger was still there, sitting in one of the metal chairs, legs crossed, ankle over his knee. Tess started to make her way through the maze. It had been a fairly balmy evening, but the temperature had plunged. It was chilly out, and Tess was glad she had chosen long pants. She fumbled through the maze for a while, winding up at dead ends every two seconds while the stranger sat, motionless, in the gazebo. Tess did not want to just barrel though the maze and ruin it. It would take a long time to re-grow and a lot of work had gone into it. She huffed, turned around, and tried again.

And wound up at another dead end.

She could feel the stranger judging her.

When she finally made it to the gazebo, the hooded figure looked at a stop watch in his hand and muttered, "Fourty five minutes."

Tess, slightly out of breath, asked, "Yeah, so?"

"Again."

Then she heard the sound of a portal opening under her feet, and soon she was standing right back where she started, at the beginning of the hedge maze.

"YOU!" Tess wanted to go at a full charge, but she felt the branches of the hedges cave against her. She stopped, resumed picking her way through the waist-high wall of foliage, hissing as loudly as she dared, "That's no way to treat a lady!"

His voice remained quiet, like he was speaking directly to her, his voice coming out of some tiny tear in space, "Again."

There was a loud booming click. Tess jumped, ducked down with a small shriek of shock. The hedge garden in the center of the maze was lit up, The lamps at the border of the maze turned on, bright as flood lights. The stranger ducked down, too. Tess heard the fountains splutter to life then her name being called over the slopes. "Tess!"

Then Hilda sounded confused, "Tess?"

Tess poked her head back up, "I'm... I'm here. You... You just..."

"If you wanted to explore a little, you should have said so! Would you like a tour? I'll get dressed again, and..."

"N-no!" she shouted back, "I'll be okay."

Hilda sounded a little disappointed, "Well... Alright then, sweetie. The switch for the lights is here, by the door. Be sure and shut it off when you come back inside. And take your shoes off. It's muddy out. We just watered."

"Yes ma'am."

"We'll see you in the morning, then?"

"Wait, wait, wait! How do I find my way though the maze?"

"Follow the Zaghnol signets. They point the way."

"Thanks, Hilda. 'Night."

"Good night."

Hilda Fabool shut the door softly, vanished down the hall, but the lamps and floodlights in the garden remained on. Tess looked at her feet, and the lights let her see a mosaic of a heavily stylized creature, with brown fur and heavy black hooves and tusks, a second pair of of white tusks, and a line of blue hair down its back, all the way to the tip of its tail. Some ludicrous mythical creature—Tess hoped that was what Hilda meant when she had said _Zaghnol._ The tusks pointed her to the right, the next one too the left, the third forward, though the maze. It was really a one-two punch, as far as mazes were concerned, the fist part, not a true square, a trapezoid, was a true maze, with many branching paths, a few loop backs, the second part, a circle was a twisting labyrinth, with two paths, one winding around the full perimeter, circling closer each tine, one path leading straight to the gazebo. It was shaped like a vintage keyhole. How fitting.

Tess took the straight path, the other was probably meant for contemplation, for aimless wandering.

The stranger did not bother to tell her she just cheated her way though some test. He signed a little, shrugged, fiddled with the chain drawstring of his long coat. Tess thought he might slide his hood down so she could see his face. All she saw was a lock of silver hair, thin, fine, flat. The hood must be magic. Even with the floodlights and the lamps on the border of the garden, she could not catch a glimpse of his face. It was shrouded in darkness.

She should not move closer—men with invisible faces were probably bad news.

But move closer she did, climbing up the steps to the raised gazebo. It was a solid block of cement, but very smooth, a fine-grained mix. Perhaps the kind that even sparkled in the sunlight with fine flecks of something crystalline they Fabools hoped the neighbors might mistake for diamond. The edge was decorated with ceramic tiles in a less meaningful pattern, which carried up to the pillars that held the roof.

The gazebo echoed with faint, rapid clicking, then there was a final snap, and he stopped the watch again, "Seven minutes."

"Better?"

"It'll do." He was trying to sound aloof—but he sounded a little embarrassed that there was an unforeseen 'easy' way for her to take, he was not upset she had taken it. He would be back, his voice said, and next time, his test would be _better._

Tess folded her arms, put her weight on one foot. "Who are you?"

He might have smiled, his head tilted down, like he was trying to hide a grin. He set both feet on the ground and stood up "No one."

"A Keyblade doesn't choose _no one._"

He was certainly smiling. Tess could hear it in his voice, "That's... true."

"So, who are you?"

He took a deep breath, the kind that proceeded a complex, reluctant answer—then he asked, "Who are you?"

"Tess."

"Tess." he echoed, "It's good to meet you, Tess."

He extended his hand. Tess took a step back, looked at the palm of his black glove, then looked to his hidden face. No face, no name—it would be like shaking hands with a mannequin. It was one of the few hand shakes Tess would actually _refuse_ in her lifetime. She folded her arms and let him know she had not forgotten: "Your name?"

He drew his hand back, tugged his glove tighter down his hand, "Some call me Ansem."

Tess pointed at nothing, "... Implying Ansem is not your name..." she moved her finger in an arch, "and you don't wanna tell me what it is anyway."

"Yes."

Tess could respect that—but she was not going to honor it with a handshake. "So..." she did not want to call him by a false name, "Um, Stranger? What brings you here?"

"I felt something different. I wanted to see what it was for myself. I wanted to see you."

"Well. Here I am. Don't you have some sagely, worldly wisdom to impart? A quest, maybe? A way to restore my world?"

There was pause. Tess hoped he was thinking deeply. She held her breath. The pause dragged on. Tess bit her lip, let the air out of her lungs slowly. She had someone that could train her. Someone who could help her. This was more than she ever could have asked for, ever could have expected. She had a sage, a master.

Then he chuckled, "... I'll get back to you on that."

* * *

I need to write a chapter from Riku's point of view, just running around from world to world. Poor bastard.

I don't think he's going to get much sleep in this crossover.


	24. Chapter 23

Taking Orders from Nobody

(Disclaimed)

Seem *pounding on doors in Traverse Town at 7 am*: Greetings, friend, do you have time to hear about our wise and powerful creators, the Precursors?

* * *

Chapter twenty three:

"Keira, how do you like your eggs?"

Keira was vaguely aware of a warm hand on her bare shoulder, sunlight on her face. The fingers traced a line down her upper arm. She grumbled something not even she understood and Shinju laughed.

"It's time to wake up, Keira."

"Don't wanna..."

"The ferry doesn't wait for sleepyheads, Kairi's going to show you around the mainland today. Now, how do you like your eggs?"

"Sk-scrambled?"

She actually liked them... You know... What was the word...? When the white was set and the yolk was... Um...

What happened to that kid that was sometimes outside the racing stadium? The one the KG carted off a week before... A week before she found Jak again, not the heartless... or maybe it _was_ the Heartless? What had he done? Did they say reckless endangerment or disturbing the peace when they dragged him off, raving? Had he been raving..? No—No he had been knocked out, stunned to stone-dead silence. Or was he dead? Younger than her, dead already? What had that sign said? Around his shoulders? Maybe it was months before? Keira reached back into her mind for the memory—all she could conjure up was the image of a red-eyed boy with a sign that read _over-easy._

The absurdity of it woke her back up—but she remembered how she liked her eggs.

Shinju had been gone for a full seven minutes, and her voice rang out, "Breakfast is ready!"

Keira opened her eyes. Shinju had thrown back the curtains. She tossed the covers off with her feet, brushing her hair back with one hand. Her face was greasy—what was she going to wear? Her old clothes were out back on the line. She got up, rifled through the clothes that had been donated to her cause, found a loose white tunic that favored being wrinkled and a pair of shorts that might fit her. She wrestled them on—loose in the waist, tight in the hips. Her figure was simply too dramatic for these clothes. She looked around for something else. She had never been a girl for skirts, but the draw-string, tiered monstrosity made of old, tired cloth with fraying embroidery, was the only thing that would comfortably fit her. She looked like she was wearing lacy trash bag. It was better than being naked.

So, Kairi was going to take her to the mainland today—she could she what resources she could get her hands on. She picked up the borrowed notebook, looked at the last page she had worked on. Had she really though _that_ design would give her perpetual motion? She should never work that late. She yawned, set the notebook down. If she ever got back home, _never_ _again_.

"Keira, do you like honey in your tea?"

"Yes."

"Come down, before it gets cold!"

"I'm coming!"

She hurried down the steps barefoot, her boots, the only shoes she had, in her hand. She set the down by the front door and saw Kairi sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands. She was dressed, her hair damp, a little mussed, the smell of the sea clung to her skin. Morning dips in the sea. No need for shoes. No metal heads. No heartless. This place was nice. It was not home, but it _was_ nice.

Shinju set her down in front of a bowl of white rice with a hint of coconut sweetness and with salty, bitter flakes of seaweed and scrambled eggs, a cup of black tea and a small orange. Kairi sipped her own cup of tea, her her little finger wandering between two extremes, down like a plebeian, up like a princess, and Kairi seemed to have no knowledge of this. She twirled her damp hair into soggy ringlets so that it would be a slightly curled when it dried.

Shinju did not sit down for a second. Breakfast was done, so she started work on her lunch, blissfully unaware of the absence of last night's leftovers in the fridge. Or perhaps she was blissfully _aware._ Keira did not want to break the spell and ask. She did not dare.

But it did prove that Riku probably liked his parents. Or at least free food.

_Riku._

Keira stopped, mid-chew, and looked at Kairi. She was staring at the window, her pinky held up, her back straight, her soggy ringlets unraveling.

She. Had seen. _Riku._

Well, almost. She had _encountered_ Riku. It could not have been anyone else—Who else would it be? It must have been Riku—though, the voice...? She hardly remembered it, but it had not seemed like a teenager's voice. It had seemed like an adult's voice, at least in his thirties. Maybe a little younger, but certainly _not _younger than twenty. Keira's skin crawled. This was information that need to be shared. She needed to tell her.

But if Riku was ready to come home, he would have done it. Who treated their family like that? Their friends?

Her first thought was _Jak. _And her second thought was _he had his reasons_.

What was the chance that _his reason _was that he sounded like a grown man?

Kairi had said something about getting his body stolen, it had been somewhere in that tangled mess of backstory. She stared chewing again, swallowed, and considered Riku's reasons. She did not want to just sit and roost on what she knew. These were not the people you hid things from. "Shinju—"

"Yes, Keira?"

She wanted to break the news gently, or get Shinju to bring it up on her own, "You... you don't have to go through all that trouble. I can just have last night's leftovers..."

Shinju laughed nervously, and tried to cover it up, "Oh, Keira, that not good cold."

Smooth. She was ready for her questions. She knew. There was silence, then a shift, a creak in the house as the rock shifted under the sand, then under the foundations.

"I heard someone in the kitchen last night."

"Did you? It was probably just Hideki. He sleepwalks."

Keira opened her mouth to tell her she knew, or at least suspected, it was Riku. Shinju caught her eye, and then glanced pointedly at Kairi. Keira looked. Kairi stared out the window, clearly not listening, as she twirled her hair a little tighter. Shinju shook her head very gently with a wink that let her knew they would discuss it later. Maybe Kairi could not keep secrets, it did seem unfair to share Riku's half-assed return when Sora was still missing.

Keira finished her breakfast. Shinju gave her a boxed lunch and a little munny to buy herself something that was not second hand. Keira put on her shoes with Kairi on the front porch. Her boots would get hot by the end of the day—maybe she should invest in a new pair of shoes, something lighter, something that could be laced for easy removal, like Kairi had, but her clothes, her boots were the only things of her old life she had left.

The life she _really_ had hated, at the time.

She stared down at her brown boots, wiggled her toes under the metal caps. Of all the things she could get in this new place, of all the things that had already been given to her. Shoes, the new thing she wanted was shoes. They were perfectly good boots. They had been with her for two good years and they had yet to fall apart. Aside from a few scuffs and oil-stains, they were fine. They kept her toes safe from stray sparks and falling metal, gave her something to combat the metal-bugs that infested the city. They were good boots. She did not need to replace them.

But they reminded her of Erol.

It was just a pair of boots.

That had been _paid _for by Erol.

She could not just go_ with out shoes_, could she?

Selphie joined them on the trail that wound around the island like a tangled thread until they reached the dock on the far side, and the waiting ferry. The ferry was wide as the dock, and about twenty feet long, flat, but Keira suspected it had a deep hull. It was a sailing vessel, not the typical two-port ferry. The sides painted with a single bright red stripe, and the sails were bright red, for easy visibility. The ship was meant to be seen from a distance—it could travel the distance, too.

There was a short ramp, and a hand-painted sign that Keira could not read—but the words looked very carefully crafted. Kairi and Selphie started digging into the pockets for fare.

"What does that sign say?"

"Fare is four munnies. Exact change only—students free on school days. Boys who skip class will swab the deck and clean the hull on Saturdays."

"W-what about _girls_ that skip class?"

From the ferry's deck, a voice called out, "Girls who skip class work the rigging."

A stiff breeze kicked up her skirt.

"Good morning, Captain Faris."

Faris strode towards them with loud steps. Keira could tell by the faint echo that the hull was very, very deep, indeed. She was dressed like a sea-farer, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a straight ponytail, it hung limp and dry, no character or bounce to it. Her eyes were blue-green, very dark, and she cut an impressive figure, with narrow hips and broad shoulders, which she only made _more_ impressive with tight, clinging white pants and a fitted black vest over red sleeves with just a hint of fullness above tight cuffs.

"It's awful warm for long sleeves." Keira remarked as Faris walked away, pocketing their fare. She did not waste time on pleasantries. Keira did not see a boathouse, so as early as one had to wake to catch the ferry and arrive to work on time, Faris must get up earlier still. She may live on the mainland. The dark hours were always cold, and Faris did not seem the type to wear anything less than pirate chic.

"Yes, but she's the only one with a ferry so we let her do as she likes." Kairi said as she sat down on the narrow, uncomfortable bench that ran the perimeter of the ferry, flush against the guard rails. There were more benches bolted right to the deck boards, and a vendor selling black tea out of a wagon. At eight thirty, people shifted, looked at Faris, as if it was strange that the ferry should still be in port. Faris looked at her watch. One last passenger ran down the docks, heels thundering against the boards.

"I thought the Ferry didn't wait for sleepy heads." Keira muttered to Kairi as Miss Trepe caught her breath against the railing then dropped four bills into Faris' waiting hand.

"Yes, but _Faris_ waits for Quistis."

Selphie placed a hand on her heart and sighed longingly, purely enraptured by the idea of love, staring at Faris, the wind majestically blowing her hair as she strode away. Miss Trepe, still catching her breath, walked towards Keira and panted, "So... Have you... _thought_ about it, Miss Hagai?"

Keira was stumped. Thought about it? Thought about it? For the life of her, she could not remember what she was talking about. "A-about what?"

"School?" Miss Trepe asked like it was really a moot point, of course she would say yes.

Keira swallowed. She had heard one or two kids talk about how boring school was—the ones that were privileged enough to _go_ to school. Fleeting sentences, heard outside her garage door, rich children, children of officers in the KG, children of the council, snobbish and entitled, skipping class outside her garage door to watch the lower class bash themselves at high speeds against a wall for their amusement.

The rest all just said they were glad they did not have to go because it was so boring.

Mostly that was Tess, who had never gone to school a day in her life.

There was not much else to _do_ on the Islands, she did not have any alternatives. No cable, if there were books she could not actually _read_ them. There was a radio, but that was meant for vital communication, not pleasure. She could spend her days shut in side, sweltering, because the islands were not completely air-conditioned, at least, not the Fuikui's. Maybe the community meeting hall had air conditioning, maybe the general store—but what would she do? Dream up vehicles she could never touch? Perfect a zoomer she did not have the materials to build?

She could probably work on getting more buildings air-conditioned—but money was an issue.

"Keira?"

They were waiting. The sudden lurch of the ferry made her dizzy, or maybe it was nerves. She stammered. "O-oh. That... Well... I'd rather not. If it's a choice."

Miss Trepe actually looked _stunned. _"W-why?"

"Well, um..." she did not want to admit it. Her eyes darted to Faris, pulling the sails in tight, turning them to catch the wind, "The... Expense?"

"Don't think of it as an expense, think of it as an investment... For your future."

The statement left a bad taste in her mouth. She did not say it, but it was implied; _your future here_. It made her afraid that this _was _a permanent change of scenery, that there was nothing to be done and this would be her life from now on, until Riku came back, and _then_ where would she stay? It was a welcome change from Haven City, and if she had to pick one, it would not be difficult to convince her to pick _here_ instead of there. But _there _had a language she could read, a niche in the economy that she could fill, _there_ had all of the things that she was familiar with. Here just had... the ability to ease the ache of nostalgia. That was it—that would fade away soon.

"I—I can't read..."

"But you were up half the night!" Kairi exclaimed, "I saw your light. What were you doing?"

"I-I mean I _can—_I can read Precursor."

They were silent.

"You don't _use_ Precursor here."

Miss Trepe's eyes wandered, she drummed her fingers against her thumb, and Kairi became fascinated with the surf. Selphie actually stood up and walked _away. _She felt like they were all thought of her like was an idiot, like she was a child, able to understand their words, but unable to leave a mark on their world.

"I will work with you, on weekends. It's just learning a new system. It won't take long. You'll be on Kairi's level soon."

She clenched her teeth. _On Kairi's level soon_. She was _older_ than Kairi. Objectively, Miss Trepe was right. It was just a matter of learning new symbols for familiar sounds. A month or two, compared to the years it took to learn a new way of speaking, or a new way of speaking _and_ writing.

But it felt like an anchor being lowered over her neck. It was childish—it was stupid. She did not want to learn a whole new way all over again. She was sick of being shuttled by some unknown force to new places. She was sick of being caught up in Jak's wake and being dropped like unwanted silt somewhere else entirely. It was not his fault. She knew that. It was not his fault; not this time, but for two whole minutes, she was absolutely _furious_ at him about it.

She stood up and walked away. She tried to step into her sea legs, but she was not as accustomed to boats and Kairi and Selphie were. She staggered across the deck to Selphie, who was leaning over the water, her knees on the bench. Keira joined her, but she did not dare lean over the water. She was too dizzy. She twisted on the bench to stare out to sea, and she wondered about Jak and Daxter, and Tess, too, and watched the sun glisten on the waves. The ferry passed the third island Keira had seen yesterday, the one that had looked so empty. She looked it over, she did not see any houses, but she saw a flash of light, like sun glinting off a window. Just a blink, it was gone quicker than it came. There must be a small hermit's shack hidden in those palm trees. The ferry stopped at a second island, picked up a few more people, some of them teenagers.

Kairi's hair had dried and lost all its curl by the time they set foot on the mainland.

The town was huge—not quite Haven City huge, but still large, about half the size, maybe, if the slums were all clipped away. The buildings were tall, storefronts crammed under apartment buildings, like a law office, a bank, a bar that was only open on Fridays and Saturdays, an open air cafe, a clothing shop.

"Come on, let's buy your school shoes."

School shoes. Again with school. "I don't want to go—I won't be able to read anything."

"There isn't much else to do—and you should go, for the experience."

It was cool inside the shoe store, a shaded kind of cool, the lights were dim. They were avoiding turning on the air conditioning, waiting out the growing warmth of the morning until the heat of mid-day made the salty humidity unbearable. They left their shoes by the door, Keira's stood out like a sore thumb—work boots were probably exclusively worn in work rooms. There were only two other people inside, not including the owner. They purchased three pairs, one for wearing indoors, one pair for wearing out doors with her uniform, and another, a plain pair of brown sandals to replace the boots Erol had bought her.

They were still not hers.

After that, they had a day to waste. Faris only made two trips, one in the morning, one in the evening. She vanished as soon as the ferry had made port. The tall buildings by the dock melted into hap-haphazardly arranged, cluttered suburbs of brightly painted houses with tall stone fences, no gates, window box gardens, letterboxes by the door, colorful wind-chimes, some had little grannies inside doing little-granny things, others had old men on the front porch, smoking, or kids in the yard, playing marbles. They all stopped to watch her, with her pointy ears and her lacy trash-bag clothes. Kairi smiled politely and greeted them all by name.

They took her indoor shoes to the school, gave her a tour of the building, from the nurse's office to their room, to the gym and finally to Miss Quistis' office, where she got a slip of paper with a combination and a locker number to store her indoor shoes.

"But I don't _want_ this."

"Just try it." Kairi urged her, "For a week, at least."

Keira gave up protesting. No metal-heads, no heartless, no need for shoes, morning dips in the sea—no job, no family, no autonomy. No hardware store, either, not that she could see, but there must be one tucked away somewhere. The school was fully air-conditioned and she had seen several window-units and external units. They did not run perfectly forever, right? Not even _here_. That just was not possible.

They ate their lunch on the roof—it was strangely safe for a roof, and clean. They could see all the way to the ocean, and all the way to the green country side beyond the town were even more farmers grew even more things, foods she did not recognize, then terraced rice paddies beyond that. She ate in silence. It was good—better than she could do, a salty-sweet omlette, vegetables that were just _barely_ tender and glazed in a spicy sauce, the only relief was a cooling, soothing marinated salad of cucumber and some fruit Keira had never tasted before—but it wasn't paupou—mixed in with fresh berries.

After their roof-top lunch, the trio retreated into the gymnasium, pulled out a tumbling mat and lay on it, feet on the floor, but their backs on the mat, heads close, talking about nothing and everything and waiting for the heat to pass. They went window shopping until six thirty, when the ferry left again. They sat in silence, all of their words used up as the wind tangled their hair and the salt dried it to unmanageable frizz and the boat bobbed up and down, the humidity fogging her mind.

She looked at _Erol's_ boots on the deck boards beside her. Curled her toes at the memory of how uncomfortably hot they were, but not as uncomfortably hot as the pavement, so bad it burned the skin two layers deep. She remembered the leering looks he kept so well hidden, the lies... The lies. The lies that hurt more than anything else. He had kept Jak, her father, everything she had longed for under lock and key—and thought he could make it up to her with a pair of boots. Her throat tightened, then her hands. Then her eyes burned. She bent over, snatched up the boots and strode across the deck.

She held them over the railing, considered it, very carefully, as the setting sun lit up the water, almost from below, a contrast of firey orange and green glass. She took a breath, gripped them tight... Closed her eyes.

Let them go.

She opened her eyes when she heard their flat splash against the water. She watched them float, sink down as the metal in the soles glinted in the yellow sun and pulled them below, then tip, one forward, one to the left, fill with water, then slip away with out even a bubble, growing darker, greener, blacker, then gone under the layers of shifting sea.

And the anger she had felt was replaced with a sudden sadness.

That life was gone. It was done. The one gift she did not want, the chapter Erol had penned himself, gone. They would sink down, settle in the sand at the bottom of the sea, some fish might try to nibble at the leather, but they would prove too tough to chew, so they would linger, maybe the leather would get water logged, the rubber degrade a little, but the metal would remain, get covered in sand, maybe coral. Maybe the mistakes she had made in her second life could be something beautiful in her third life, preserved under coral until the end of time.

The sudden sadness was replaced with relief. Erol was gone. Like he had been a hand pulling on the back of her shirt that had been suddenly hacked off, a grip around her ankle holding her in the past slipped off. He was gone. He was really _gone_ now. She had thought maybe, she was free that day he was scraped off the pavement, there was no way, _no way_ he was alive after that. He must have been dead. He had to be dead—yet she had never felt _free._

Keira dropped her hand, resting it loosely on the railing as she tilted her head back. This was freedom, right? The last bit of him was gone. The garage, every tool—those had all been his, and they were gone. The mistakes she had made—at least the ones regarding him—they were absolved.

Kairi's hand rubbed her back, she took hold of her wrist, "Feel better?"

The spell was broken almost at once, and that heavy fear of permanence was back: "Those were perfectly good work boots."


	25. Chapter 24

Taking Orders from Nobody

Disclaimed.

I'm watching the old Speed Racer.

I'm not regretting it.

* * *

Chapter twenty four:

"Are you really, really absolutely, positively sure you don't want to go with me?" Sora tilted his head and scrunched up his nose. His hair was more of a mess than usual. There was an imprint of a crease that had been pressed into the fake leather seats of the gummi ship against his cheek. Despite spending the night in a captain's chair, he appeared bright-eyed and alert and his eyes just got brighter when Aerith presented him with a stack of strawberry pancakes.

"Fresh Strawberries? Where did you get them?"

"Someone's been growing them in a little patch, where the gardenias used to grow—tomato, too. And some spinach... Not like you would know where I'm talking about."

"Not like I care about _spinach._ Thanks, though." He shoveled a huge bite into his mouth.

Jak took advantage of the silence, "Yes. I'm sure."

Sora swallowed, yawned, stretched his back, rubbed his eye and then reached for the sky, moving his arms to cover as much space as he could, before asking, "Hoooow about I just _kidnap_ you?"

"You can't even _lift_ me."

Sora put his hands on his hips and insisted, "Can too!"

"... You can't."

"If you keep having nothing but coffee for breakfast you'll be lighter than me in no time."

"I don't like eating in the mornings. It makes me sick."

It actually reminded him of the strict schedule in prison—and the high-carb diet—and _that _made him sick_._ He was not going to tell Sora that.

"But aren't you hungry?"

"I have hate. I have coffee. I'm good."

"No wonder you're always grouchy, a breakfast like _that..._ " Sora laughed, planted an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, "Maybe I won't leave until you agree to go with me?"

"Sora, leave him be."

Leon turned the page of his morning paper, which was ten years, three months, and sixteen days old. It was largely untouched by time, except for the fact that it had been soaking wet yesterday and the edges were a little singed. He must have pulled it out of the fire before the flames got to it_, specifically_ to look all knowledgeable and dignified while reading it.

"You're not really _reading_ that paper, are you?"

Leon hid his face in the newsprint. He could have been hiding shame—could have been hiding a smile. Sora turned back to look at him, and did not leave him alone at all, "Are you _really_ sure?"

He was not sure, "Yes."

"You don't _sound _sure."

"I'm sure."

Sora's toothy smile dropped, his eyes flicked over Jak—not looking at the details this time. Sizing him up, looking him over, weighing his _real_ options, before saying, "Well... I guess I really _can't_ force you."

"No," Jak replied, he took another sip of coffee—too weak for his tastes—and his eyes wandered from Sora and his baby face full of pancakes to Stitch, sneaking along the wall over Aerith's head, dropping down to the coffee pot. They did the old fashioned way here, with percolators instead of the the drip-through machines that were common in Haven City, all aroma, no flavor. Maybe that was just because the darkness eroded taste. Stitch and coffee would be an awful combination, and Jak considered warning Aerith, but she saw him just in time and shooed him way with a spatula. Someone of his size was not _meant_ to handle caffeine. He had to trick Daxter with decaf, trick him with non-alcoholic beer, and worry if every word on every food label he did not know was actually _Ottsel poison_ in disguise.

Where ever he was—if he was with someone—he hoped they realized that.

He did not want to think about that; Daxter, surviving the Heartless only to be felled by Xylitol.

"I still don't know anything about you."

"There isn't anything to know."

"There's lots to know—What's your friend's name? I never caught it?"

"I never threw it."

"So?" Sora kicked the table—he might have been aiming for Jak, "It's too early for you to be this dense. _Throw it."_

"Daxter. His name is Daxter."

"Got a special girl, maybe?"

Jak just stared at him.

"She must be really pretty if you refuse to talk about her."

"She is."

Sora's big, beaming smile just got bigger, "Soooo..."

Jak would have none of it, "You've got strawberry in your teeth."

Sora turned bright red and focused on stuffing his face for a little while. Jak focused on his coffee. Stitch focused on slipping past Aerith. Aerith was not going to be slipped past, "Jak, what should I do about him?"

"I'll worry about him." he got up, coffee in hand, and took Aerith's place at the stove. He demanded, quietly, "Stitch, do you really _need_ coffee?"

"Ich." he nodded a little bit.

"Are you _lying?"_

He nodded more, black eyes wide and honest, smile white and sharp. Jak looked at the percolator like he'd rather use it as a door stop, then looked at Stitch. He took a mug from the cupboard above it, and gave him a warning finger, "Half a mug."

"Pancake?"

"Fine."

Jak poured out the last of the strawberry-laden batter as Stitch poured himself three fourths of a mug of coffee. It was quiet. Leon turned the pages of his paper a couple of times, Sora clinked his fork against his plate. Donald and Goofy came around, but did not say anything Jak really cared about. His ears were good—but if he was not invested in understanding every _single word_ then he could not understand it at all. Not _Donald_ at least. Nothing but squawking.

Stitch asked, sitting on the counter top, "Sora?"

"Yeah, yeah I know."

"You said we would go."

"_You_ can go. _You're_ not the problem."

Stitch was quiet. Now that the pancakes were cooking away under his nose, Jak had to admit, he was starving. He thought about physically chewing food this early in the morning, _carbs_ at that, and it passed quickly. Jak would never say he did not understand why people from the future liked bread so much—but he did not, maybe it was the yeast, maybe it was the gluten. Honestly he did not even like grain-distilled liquor. He had a handful of strawberries. They were not as good as the ones from the Forbidden Jungle, but they were better than _just_ coffee. He fought back the need to throw up as he watched Stitch drown the pancakes in syrup and scarf them down with his bare hands.

He stared out the window, one hand on the counter and one hand holding his third mug of coffee. It was overcast, a half-assed threat of rain hung above the maw. Cooler than yesterday. Darker than yesterday. Some of the smoke still hung in the air. If he was not going with Sora—and he was _not _going with Sora, what would he do? Stay here? He was not going to find Tess, Not-Terra, or any other Keyblade Bearer just sitting around here.

Maybe, if he stayed with Kairi's Grandmother, Lea would turn up again. He was no Keyblade Bearer, but he _could _travel from world to world. To hear the old woman tell it, he was already living dangerously—already had an interest in him, too, right? With as busy as it was around here, Lea would probably turn up again in a couple of hours.

He hated to admit Leon was right. But Leon was right. Going with Sora was a bad idea. Even if Sora thought it was a good idea. To avoid having to refuse Sora a few more times, Jak finished his weak coffee in one gulp, went down stairs under some paper-thin pretext and wondered why Stitch did not just leave him then and there. Stitch followed him down, sat on the table while Jak sat in the chair, drumming his fingers on the wood and staring at the pipe hammer he had thrown together.

"You can go." he told Stitch after a long pause.

"I know."

Jak waited around until he heard Sora say his good byes, and footsteps on the stairs. Too light to be Sora. It was Aerith. She slid into the chair across from him, moving deliberately, teasingly, slyly, with a little grin that was all innocent curiosity. She propped her chin on her hand, "Sora's leaving."

"I know."

"You're not going with him?" Aerith's tone was veiled and difficult to decipher and Jak hated it, "What _are_ you going to tell Leon?"

"_Nothing._"

She chuckled, just as veiled, just as difficult to decipher, "Nothing?"

"Yes. Never speaking to him again. With luck, I can avoid him forever."

"You can avoid him forever in the..." her eyes made a deliberate, sparkling sweep of the run down walls, before coming back to Jak and asking, "Basement of his own house?"

He could not decipher her tone—but he was almost positive she was toying with him. There were worse people that could be pulling his strings, although he had made sure they would _never_ pull his strings again. He pulled back. "I'd prefer Merlin's... but I'm not speaking to _him,_ either."

"Mmm-_hmm_."

He supposed he could go live with Kairi's Grandmother—what had Sora told her about Kairi? That he would find her and bring her there? Or that he would take her to Destiny Islands when it was all over? She did deserve a tropical vacation. He was not about to ask. Maybe he would go out, test the hammer on some Heartless, do something to ease the frustration.

Aerith did not laugh this time. "So, after all that? You're really not going to go with Sora?"

It felt like a cop-out saying it, "I'm really not going to go with Sora."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm violent with a hair trigger temper and I'd make a monster of a heartless."

Aerith did not bother arguing. It would have been good of her to insist that he was not—but it was kinder to let him be honest. It was not _her_ job to feed him lies. She brushed some of the remaining sand down onto the floor. Jak heard the Highwind's engines rev, then idle from the wall, then fade, and through it all Aerith watched him, like she was expecting him to run away at the last second. He remained where he was. She shrugged, stood up, hardly scraping her chair against the floor, and then left with hardly a noise against the stairs, and hardly a noise on the upper floor. It was like she was _waiting_ for him. Jak leaned forward, tried to get a glimpse at the landing. The door was open, but he did not see her.

He looked back at Stitch.

"Thought you'd leave with him."

"Ohana." Stitch said simply.

And he thought he had been the one to cop out. How long ago had he found Stitch? Two days—no. Not it had only been _one_ day. One day did not a family make. He did not share that though. He shrugged, "Well, thanks..." then he leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head and tipped the chair back on two legs, breathed through his nose, before he signed, "Plan B..."

He closed his eyes, thought about what Samos would say—probably that he needed to learn to share the spotlight, bite his tongue and go with Sora for the good of their world, and Samos would be right... except Jak was _not_ a tongue biter. He thought about what Daxter would say. Something sharp tongued and too sassy, considering his easily kick-able frame and poorly camouflaged fur.

What _could_ he do? _Steal_ a gummi ship? The only one he knew was around was Sora's... and Sora needed his ship. But if he was stuck here...? He would never know when his world came back. What could he do? Wait around where his world had been for its return? How would he even _know_ what worlds were "close" to his own? More worlds created by the precursors? Or more worlds ravaged by the metal heads? Heartless?

It would have been a real problem.

Except, when Jak was trying to master areo in the bailey, and failing because he was the furthest from proud as he had been in the past three days, he heard gummi ship engines _again. _He looked up and saw a _very different_ ship descending. He was intrigued at first, then confused. Sora's ship... It had been _red_ right? And bulkier than this one. This one was purple, loaded with guns, and sleek, built for speed and attack, not substance.

Besides, Sora left an hour ago— there was no _way_ he would be back so soon.

Was this some _new_ Keyblade Bearer from some _other_ distant corner of the universe? Was it Riku? Maybe it was Lea? Jak jogged through the Bailey. The ship docked in the same _place_ as Sora, the silhouette of the pilot certainly _looked_ like Sora, and the messy haired teenager that climbed out, grumbling, "Hell, we just fucking _left_..." was _unmistakably Sora._

"Sora?"

"Sup? We need Merlin... What's with that look on your face?"

"Your ship was _red."_

Sora looked at the gummiship. To say _he was hinting at something_ would be a gross understatement. "Yeah. Yeah it _is_. _My_ ship is red."

Jak found himself grinning, "You have... You have more than one ship?"

"Yeah. I'm practically an admiral." Sora joked, "It's made me _soooo_ forgetful. I mean, look, I've just left the cockpit open and everything and the keys are just _right there _in the ignition."

"I'll get them, Sora."

Sora grabbed Donald by the back of his tunic and yanked him back down again. Donald squawked and grumbled as Sora threw his arm around Jak's shoulders and started chewing the scenery. "Wouldn't it be so tragic if some kid climbed in there and just _drove off? _Merlin'd have to warp me to Disney Castle—not like he minds. He just _hates gummiships. _The Falcon'd just be here, ripe for the taking. And this isn't a ship made for kids. It's very unsafe. Just look at all those guns. It really doesn't last long under heavy fire—and it's so fast it's almost impossible to steer. Some poor kid could just get _blasted off into space._" He made a motion with his hand, a sound effect with his mouth, "How tragic would it be, right?"

And then he winked _with no degree of subtlety at all. _

"So tragic." Jak nodded with feigned solemnity, "That poor, hypothetical child."

"We're gunna go to Merlin's now, buddy." Sora replied and gave him a firm whap on the back, ending with a rough shake to his shoulder that made Jak wonder if Sora really _couldn't_ lift him, even if it was just long enough for a suplex or an over the-shoulder flip.

"Catch you later."

Sora settled down, his message received. His smile stopped being hammy and started being genuine again, "Do good out there. I know you can. You have no idea the good you can do if you only smiled."

"One hero to another." Jak replied, "_Subtlety,_ Sora."

Sora let him go, "Got it. Tone it down."

"And stop swearing."

"Okay." then he rubbed his hands together, "Welp, come on, guys, that Cornerstone of Light isn't gunna _save_ _itself_."

Jak watched them go with a short, sharp wave, almost a salute. When they were down the stairs, out of the average person's ear-shot, Jak heard Goofy whisper, "Sora, why didn't you just tell him he could take the ship?"

"His _pride_, Goofy."

Jak folded his arms and sighed with a smile, shaking his head. That kid was going places. He heard Stitch climbing into the Falcon. Jak followed, scanned the controls. Radar, radio, steering wheel, it was basically a zoomer, but with life support systems, a cockpit that could seal itself completely, and beds—and he could not read anything.

"Can you make heads or tails of this, Stitch?"

Stitch already seemed to be making heads of it. He picked is way around the controls, pointed at the captain's chair, "Sit."

"Stitch, I don't know how to fly this thing."

"I'm too short." he replied simply.

He had a point. Jak sat down, closed the six point harness over his stomach and followed Stitch's instructions. Ignition on and engine ready, everything, the engine, the fuel system, the cockpit sealed and all indicator lights green _before_ the landing gear was taken up, and the landing gear up _before_ the fuel was allowed to get to the engine. Throttle _then_ clutch. There was a quick spluttering, a roar of engines and the Falcon was in the air. Sora was right, it _was_ fast. A blink of an eye and the sky of Hollow Bastion was gone.

Of all the things Jak though he would see in his life, _space_ was not one of them. He looked out of he cockpit saw worlds just _floating there,_ colorful, beautiful some of them hidden behind nebula, shimmering every color imaginable in the light of ten thousand stars, distant, not so distant, some so far away, Jak and Stitch must have been the first people to see their light—and they might even be long dead now, cold and black and burned out, the worlds that lived off their warmth, the clouds of dust they made glow, dark and lifeless. Far off, a meteor shot through the sky, leaving a trail of frozen dust.

"_... Whoa._"

He felt small, in a good way. He grinned stupidly, marveling at it all as Stitch moved freely around, pacing from one side of the dash to the other, looking out, before climbing around skillfully and looking out at the back of the dome, getting his bearings. Jak guided the Falcon through a field of asteroids before working his way over it.

"Where to, first, Stitch?"

Stitch shrugged, "Home is far."

"Well, you curious about other words or do you want to keep flying?"

Stitch looked at him, his eyes narrowed just a little bit. He was thinking.

Daxter could be anywhere, if he _was _anywhere. So could Tess. He had a reason to be curious. Stitch did not. Not _really_.

Jak focused on the mess of space ahead of them, were coming on on a field of asteroids. Seemed harmless enough. Jak figured he could be forgiven for being a little wary of it—space was not a two way street. He pulled back on the wheel, sent the Falcon upward, skirting a rock with no skill, a paint chip, nothing more.

He closed the throttle in an attempt to slow it down. It worked. The Falcon slowed to an easy amble, though the engine spluttered impatiently. While Stitch weighed his choices, Jak saw a streak of light jump from Hollow Bastion, still close enough he could make out the town in the blue rock, the trail of smoke left from Lea's bonfire, to a world very close to it, green, with a white and blue castle. That must be Disney Castle. Looked like it was having some trouble with the darkness. It was billowing out like a mist.

"We could go help out them, never did thank him."

"He knows. We'll see him again." Stitch assured him. He crawled around. Jak had to twist back around quickly to follow him. It was quiet again. Stitch stopped at the right hand side, then said; "Curious."

"Explore it is." Jak looked out to the worlds. He could pick a world, any world. There was nothing getting in his way, no one telling him he could not _do_ something. Each one was just as likely to have Daxter—if any of them _did_. He wish he could punch a pair of coordinates and rocket towards him. He made a few corrections to the course, started heading towards the closest world.

He glanced down—gauges were pointed to the middle. Half power, half heat—looked normal. Should have thought to ask where to get fuel before running off. But Stitch was right, they would run into Sora again—he should have asked where mission control was. If he was going to be getting any radio signals, it would to him some good to know _where_ they were coming from.

Stitch dropped down into his right-hand chair, strapped himself in. The seats were not made for someone his size—he would pop out at the slightest jolt. Jak wondered which of the many buttons he pressed to get the guns to fire, then he wondered why the ship even _had _guns. The Heartless did not come in to worlds on ships, they traveled through the Darkness, right? They could just emerge anywhere they liked.

So why did the ship have guns?

He did not get a chance to wonder long—the radar started going crazy. Jak opened up the throttle and let the Falcon do its work, getting them them hell away from it. He glanced at the gauges one last time, his eyes caught a pair of buttons on each side to the steering wheel, they were bright red, thumb-sized and un-leased a hail of bullets so large that _crazy-awesome overcompensation_ was an understatement.

They also alerted every other ship in the field to their presence.

"Worse than traffic back home." Jak muttered to himself before dodging a set of homing missiles and getting blow away by the blast they made as they all hit each other.

Haven City had given him one gift, incurable road rage. Jak went silent. His eyes narrowed, his knuckles went white on the wheel, and his hand hovered on the throttle, ready to cut the engine for sudden stops and sharper turns, one hand firing the guns.

The radio picked a bad time to hiss. A squeaky voice cut through the blaring of the defense system and the static of the radio, "_This is Disney Castle hailing the rogue Falcon._"

"I have _two _hands."

They did not hear him, "_This is Disney Castle hailing the rogue Falcon."_

Then he heard Sora in the background. He sounded a little antsy—like he was afraid of getting in trouble for loaning out the ship, "_I'm sure he's fine._"

Jak was not interested in telling them anything was wrong. He wondered, barely able to think over Stitch's thrilled shouts as he did a barrel roll to avoid a spray of lazers so hot he felt it inside the cabin, how easy it would be to disconnect it completely. There was inaudible bickering on the other end, Sora, Merlin, some squeaking woman's voice, then, "_So, lad, Sora tells me he loaned you the Falcon. How are you enjoying the freedom?_"

It was Merlin.

He could bitch at Merlin. He let throttle and grabbed the radio, "Merlin, how to the Heartless travel?"

"_They travel the darkness._"

"Then why do they have _ships?"_

Something slammed into the back of them. Jak pulled the ship up, tried to get it to go left, but with the radio in one hand and the enging running full tilt they hit the rock and skidded for twenty feet before breaking free of it. Jak glared at an enemy he could not see. The Falcon coughed, the internal lights flickered and a cannon misfired. Jak looked down, his frown deepened. One of the gauges... it was in the red. They had all been fine before. He had just checked. Did a fuel tank get hit? Or was that temperature? Honestly, the little picture next to it looked like a smiley face, it was hard to tell what it was.

No one answered, Jak kept talking. There was no time to panic. "Lost the fuel tank. Someone tell me how to keep life support on."

"_No, that's not possible. Gummi ships run on happy faces._"

There was _always_ time to be mad at Merlin. "Don't feed me that feel good crap right now!"

"_No!_" it was Sora's voice, "_He's not jerking your chain, Jak. The Highwind, the Falcon, they literally run on happy faces._"

That was so fucking _stupid. _That was so _trite and cliché _that he had to _laugh._

The Falcon spluttered back to life.

He needed to kill something.

* * *

Well, we're in the Land of Dragons, only problem is, Mulan's plot was all used up by Sora.

You know what that means, right?

Right, guys?

_Guuuuuuuuuuuys?_


	26. Chapter 25

Taking Orders from Nobody

(disclaimed)

When it doubt. Change your plan.

Again.

And again.

And AGAIN.

* * *

Chapter twenty five:

Sora's voice spilled into the cabin from a crack in the static, "_Happy faces, Jak._"

"I'm smiling!" Jak insisted angrily as he plowed into a heartless that should not have a ship. The ship snagged, skidded, nicked something Jak barely saw, but if the ear-breaking boom, the violent pitch of the ship, and the surge of heat were to be trusted, it was something with a trustworthy, consistent, _flammable_ fuel supply. "I'm smiling."

"_Not a slasher smile, Jak!_"

"For a _hero_—" there was an uncomfortable, abrupt noise from out side. Something metal hit something solid. Jak cringed, looked around—he did not see a clear source. He went back to ridiculing, "You're really unhelpful!"

Sora's voice was flat, "_Ow, dude._"

All four of Stitch's arms were out, all four clawing his seat, trying to keep himself still under the six-point harness. The ship rocked. His feet clawed the seat, too, long nails ripping holes in the fake leather. Jak resolved for the fifth time that he was _not_ going to die in the next fifteen minutes, that gave the Falcon a extra boost, enough to get it out of that tangle and into a new one.

It also gave the radio enough juice to crackle and fizz, just enough power for Jak to hear, _"Just turn around. Head back towards Hollow Bastion—Disney Castle is just beyond that. That's were I am. I'll come get you in the Highwind..."_

Jak looked around, trying to locate Hollow Bastion the the shooting storm of ships. His sense of pride protested, but he _did_ like being alive, even if that meant Sora had to come get him. There was safety in numbers, he supposed. He could keep an eye on him. He was so foolish, he must be so easy to manipulate, at least, Jak could see how that was an easy conclusion to draw, and he would probably find out more things if he was closer to Sora—but he got the feeling people _hid _things from Sora.

He would find out more if he was not dead.

"Okay," he sighed; relief, resignation, "We'll meet up at Hollow Bastion."

He felt better for it. The ship spluttered and coughed and caught its umpteenth second wind. Jak forced the ship around, turning the ship, it was slow going, the wing dragged on empty space as the engines struggled to work with the deficit of positive energy. He gunned it when Hollow Bastion was front and center. He saw Sora's bright red ship shoot from a distant world cloaked in black mist, overshoot Hollow Bastion, and make a sharp turn and shoot towards the Falcon. When he was close enough, Jak heard a pop, felt the ship rock as a grappling hook sank into the gummi to his right. It was humiliating being towed to safety by a kid—but it was good to know that the keyblade's chosen one was capable of handling any crisis.

Disney Castle was white and blue, with a sprawling, quaint little village of red roofs surrounding it. As they made their approach, Jak saw the remains of a few race tracks, with a colorful little village tucked between them, too small to be of any real use. It was a theme park, but old, unusued. A river ran below the castle and through the town. The Highwind hauled the Falcon towards the castle, approaching the field, and following the river to the underside of the archway. The Falcon's engines were thoroughly dead and the ship obliged gravity, dropping into the water with a heavy splash and a series of violent bobs. Stitch gagged, but did not hurl. Jak unbuckled his harness and got to his feet. Chains were dropped from the opening metal doors over head as the Highwind vanished inside and docked. Sora slid down the rope and dropped onto the ship's side, peering through the glass. He looked worried. Jak opened the cockpit and climbed out.

"I'm sorry." Sora said quickly, reaching for his arms. Jak took the offer of assistance. It was a trick—Sora hugged him, instead, "I'm so sorry. I didn't think to tell you. That was irresponsible."

"I've been in tighter spots." he replied. He tried to peel him off—Sora was not going to be peeled off. He started pushing at his shoulders, "It's fine."

"It's not." Sora just stubbornly hugged him tighter. "You could have died."

"And then." Jak tried a little harder to push him off, "I would have thought of something else."

Sora let him go and grabbed hold of his arm, throwing his weight back to pull him out onto the Falcon's mangled body. It was charred in some places, torn up in others. The Gummi that made up the outside did not shatter like fiber glass or even crumple like metal. It had give to it, it could be cut, torn, and it was torn to ribbons. One of the engines was gone. A wing was missing.

"Well, this thing's totaled."

"Guess you'll just have to come with us."

Sora did not _actually_ sound that put out about it. Jak was going to think of something else. He grabbed one of the chains. There was a heavy hook on the end. Sora took the other one and jabbed it into the gummi on the opposite side. Jak followed his lead. It plunged ten inches deep before stopping. The gummi sucked to it, creating a tight vacuum. It would not be freed with brute strength alone. The ship rocked and there was an echoing clunk from the inside of the castle as gears started to turn and the Falcon was pulled out of the water and into the hanger. Jak looked at Stitch. He had calmed down. When the Falcon was up, suspended over the river, he sprung out of his seat and scurried down the chain. He grabbed hold of it and started pulling it to an open space, moving the ship as easily as a pillow. When it was moved to the open hanger floor, and Jak and Sora had slid down from the wreckage, Stitch opened the side panel. A suffocating plume of black smoke billowed out, but Jak did not smell anything burning. The insulation on the wires was blackened, there were little clicks of static and flashes of light as the wires discharged into the cool air of the hanger. Jak reached over Stitch, rubbed his thumb against the wire. The black, scalded Gummi chipped away, in a layer to reveal perfectly fine insulation underneath, like scale on forged metal.

A squeaking voice that _sounded_ like it came from his boots promised, "We'll make it good as new."

Behind him, Sora muttered a quick, "Darn it..."

Jak jumped and looked town. There was a chipmunk with a red nose between his steel toes, "Uhh..."

"But we can't make it run on angry faces."

Jak looked to the hatch of the access panel. There was... another chipmunk. "Oookay."

"Stitch can."

To prove his point, Stitch grabbed a handful of wires and tugged, ripping out a tangle of metal and sparks. The chipmunks gasped and quickly shouted squeaking protests. Stitch did not listen. Jak wanted to watch him work, and help if he could, considering the damage was his fault, but he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve. He looked down.

She was a mouse. In the same way Donald was a duck and Goofy was a dog, but she was a mouse, big-eyed and black. She was dressed in a stupidly opulent pink gown. Her voice was squeaking, "And... And you are...?"

"It's Jak."

"Jak?" She echoed, she raised a finger to her tiny chin. "The king... _never_ mentions _you_ in his letters."

Well, he was new to the game—but that played second fiddle to his reply; "The king..?" Who was the king? There was a caste—it was safe to assume there was a king. Was he a mouse? Under what circumstances did he write his letters? What did they contain? Reports from the town? Reports from other worlds? "Writes letters?"

"Yes. He always writes me letters about his adventures in the other worlds. He's always done it. He's done it for years."

"_Years?_ Could I—"

Between Queen Minnie's huge ears, Sora held a finger to his lips and winked. Take care, was his silent warning, tread lightly and use what little charm you have.

Jak did not tread lightly. Jak did not take care. But Jak did have charms. It could be said before he had never tried to charm a mouse, and it seemed graceless to boast about his way with _animals _at a time like this. He smiled, tried to ignore the big eyes that absorbed every detail and the nose that twitched just a little when she breathed. "Juuust say that's so... Romantic? Miss... Ummm..."

She giggled airily, "Queen Minnie."

"So—" Jak unconsciously leaned against the gummy ship, roasting his elbow over the smoldering wires. Stitch's third arm knocked him away. He was nearly thrown by the force. "It must be just to check in, and say he's doing well? Or does he tell you what's going on?"

He wanted to hear that she had an entire catalog of letters, meticulously stored away and cross-referenced by keywords and dates—in that moment, he had forgotten the information would be inaccessible. He still clung to the idea. Queen Minnie tilted her head, her eyes glanced to Sora, but never made it there. She looked back at Jak, "He tells me everything he learns."

"Can I see them?"

"They're _private."_ she stepped back, guarding herself with a thin, gloved arm. She shook her head, "And _very_ personal."

"Well." Sora stretched big, "If you two are just gunna chat, Donald, Goofy and I'll go on ahead."

Before anyone, namely Donald, could protest, Sora picked him up by the waist and tucked him against his side. Donald's angry squawking was unintelligible and fearsome. Goofy followed, and tried to convince Sora to set Donald down for many compelling reasons; he was a right powerful mage, he was a decorated and battle-hardened sailor, and he was in his forties—and that is really not how you handle someone in their forties. It continued up the tall spiraling staircase until it was just a mummer, and then it was gone. The Queen watched as light from outside trickled in, giving the gears and ships and gizmos around them a little cusp of white, and the only noise was a mechanical hum, masked occasionally by Stitch's angry labor over the gummi ship. The Queen's black eyes dropped back to him, scanned him quickly, trying to decide what kind of man he was. Her eyes stopped on Merlin's macrame shackle around his wrist and the elements he had left him with, clumped together, dangling over the back of his hand. She smiled, "Would you escort me to the study?"

He had never been fond of escort missions, "Will you tell me what you know?"

"In time." she promised, and she fiddled with a rope of pearls and diamond drops at her neck, "In time."

"Yeah. I'll do it."

She nodded, gathered up her skirts, and headed to the stairs. Jak followed, hammer at the ready. The hanger door was hidden by an bush of very clingy, bright green ivy, a few flowers dotted the garden, but mostly it was grass and well-pruned bushes carved into brass musicians. It was nice. The white marble gleamed, the air was tinged with the smell of cut grass, butterflies fluttered around; for the first time and a long time, Jak thought about his own insect collection. When he was younger, when he could have hardly fathomed the idea of other worlds, he would have loved samples from Hollow Bastion, from this garden, from anywhere else he set foot.

As far as escort missions went, this one was tame. The Queen was a mouse, it was a jarring thought, and frankly a little racist, but scurrying away to hide until the danger had passed was in her very nature. The heartless were different here—there were the shadows he knew, the soldiers he did not want to know—and heartless that would explode in a minute if he did not kill them before they did. Sora had thinned out their ranks on his way through.

The Queen stayed hidden until she was called, and when push came to shove she was fully capable of sending the heartless flying with an impressive burst of light that left him physically drained and unable to use magic for a while. But he never _used_ magic, and the light soothed every hurt and even managed to beat the dark eco in his veins back down to his bones. Jak envied her that ability. Even when it swept him off his feet and knocked him flat on his back.

He made sure to tell her.

It was a brisk walk through the garden to a red-carpeted walkway overlooking it. It wrapped almost all of the around, and Jak did not bother to check, but there must be some kind of spell between the pillars and arches. There was no glass—when it rained the carpet would be a nightmare to dry out unless there was a spell keeping rain and birds out, but letting a breeze through. On their way they passed a pair of big, pearly, fake doors. The real door was only as big as it needed to be. Beyond that, a pair of plain brown doors that opened to the study.

Jak scanned the new room as Minnie made her way to the desk. The bookshelves behind her were curved. There were two portraits of big-eared ancestors framing the door—Jak had never been in a place so devoid of computers. He had heard tell of some aesthetic movement that worked to cut out electronic screens from personal spaces, citing the past. Jak had been in the past—folks had liked electronics then, too. He heard Minnie moving the chair so she could sit comfortably. The wooden legs were loud against the polished tile. He turned around. She did not look used to doing it herself. Jak started to cross the room to push it in for her, but by the time he reached the chair, she was already tucked in, a tiny woman at a big desk. Her feet did not touch the floor.

She laced her fingers on the desk and tilted her head, waiting patiently for his first question. Her eyes followed him knowingly as he circled the desk and pulled up another chair so he could sit down opposite her. He shrugged off his pack and let it fall to the floor. It was beat up and out of place. It was in desperate need of retiring. Jak glanced back to the door. He had left distinctly dirty boot prints on the tile, probably prints on the carpet outside, too. Minnie patiently cleared her throat.

Jak's eyes snapped back to her, "Tell me about Terra."

"Terra was one of three apprentices—Aqua and Ventus were the other two. They studied under a man named Eraqus." That was the answer to his question. He opened his mouth to ask about Eraqus, she cut him off with a better, more interesting prompt. She smiled like she knew it was what he _really_ wanted to know, "_but_ when Ventus was younger, he studied under another master. His name was Xehanort."

It slipped out; "Fuck."

"Don't say that word." She corrected gently, "It's an ugly word."

"I'm sorry; please tell me about Xehanort. Did you ever see him? Did you know anything about him?"

"Not really—Little details, perhaps. What do you need?"

"How old was he? Did he seem particularly... Evil? To you? Why did he stop training Ven?"

"He was... Older. Fifties? Sixties, maybe? Could have been seventy, but he was older, certainly. I think... And when he was younger, no, he never _seemed _to be evil, he seemed to be curious and studious. It is amazing how a pretty, youthful face will distract from bad intentions, and those _eyes! _They were brilliant gold." her lashes fluttered and she rested her chin on her hand, "He was considered a model student. He was very interested in science and history. In his early years, he was a respected Keyblade master. When he was training Ven... It certainly _seemed _like he let his curiosity get the better of him."

She fell silent.

"What did he do?" Jak prompted, excited and impatient. He scooted forward in his seat.

"Let me think of a way to say it _delicately."_

Jak let her think. She took a breath, shook her head, and reconsidered, thinking of the best way, the most complete way, setting every fact in order so that he could be given a complete picture. Her eyes looked to the books on the curving shelves, the painting on Jak's left. When she was ready, she took a bracing breath and leaned forward, her voice somber despite its irritating squeak.

"From his early days as an apprentice to his last days as a master, Xehanort was fascinated with an event called the Keyblade War, where Keyblade wielders fought for control over Kingdom Hearts. You've heard of Kingdom Hearts?" when he nodded, she continued, "It was said, during the war, that a companion to Kingdom Hearts was forged, briefly, but this is all legend. Other legends say it was there all along, and the war was to claim it, though it was broken in the clash. Other legends say it was never forged, but that a powerful Keyblade Bearer sealed it away, deep in the realm of darkness, and that it could only be retrieved again by the true Keyblade Master—Except its not spelled _key _its spelled _Ki _and it's represented by a little X with a curly-que in the end of it. It's called the recursant sigil."

"Thank you." Jak interjected. He suspected she was talking about a completely different X and he wanted to put her back on track. "That's very helpful."

"Regardless of the legend, they all say the same thing. The X-blade was forged through the ultimate clash between light and darkness. Xehanort's fascination with the Keyblade War was simply a cover for his obsession with this true X-blade. This is where Ventus makes his... unfortunate entrance. Master Xehanort took him in under the guise of training him, but he had selected Ventus for one reason only. His heart was the perfect balance of Light and Darkness. Xehanort thought Ven would be the child to create the X-blade."

Jak did not like where this was going. He gritted his teeth, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, straightened his back against the solid wood, and did not interrupt.

"He trained Ven, treated him just so, and fine-tuned the balance of light and darkness in his heart until it was perfect. Knowing him as we do now, it is hard to image Ven's brief time with him was particularly warm, though he was kept in good physical health. He was never beaten or harmed—but Xehanort is not a _good_ man. I don't think he ever was. He took Ven to a world, the battle field of that ancient clash, and used his own keyblade to tear Ven's heart in two, with the aim of making him fight his own darkness and forge the X-blade."

Jak's hand clenched into a fist and his heart started to pound. Experimenting on a kid! Jak could at least distance himself from his own immediate and troubled past—there was a reason. It was a bad reason. When he repeated it to himself_, it was for the greater good, the city was in danger, you fit the bill_, it made him want to vomit, but considering the blind rage he always felt _before_, it was an improvement. But what luxury did Ven have? What could he say to justify that kind of torture, to remove it from the hard reality? Xehanort's face must be tailor-made for his boot.

It just sort of... happened; "Fuck me."

Her big eyes focused on his mouth scornfully and she waited for him to mutter a hasty apology, "The X-blade was not forged that day, but Ventus, as you can imagine, was never the same. He was just... Not there anymore."

"But it worked? A heart _can_ be removed?" he sprung up, "Not just removed—but in pieces? This means—I could be right, Stitch!" Stitch was not there, "Queen Minnie, there is a painting in Hollow Bastion, in Ansem's study."

The queen visibly grimaced. She knew where this was going. Jak hardly noticed. "Stitch says it looked like Terra, but with pale hair and golden eyes. He said Terra's hair was dark and his eyes were blue. Another woman there said Ansem had an apprentice named Xehanort—_she_ said Xehanort, the apprentice, was in his twenties ten years ago. I had a theory that Terra's body was stolen by the original Xehanort. Could that be true? A heart can be removed. Master Xehanort knew how to do it. It could be true!"

"Yes. Yes, it's true." Her hand raised to her heart, "Oh! Terra was such a nice young man. To think that's what became of him!"

Jak would have punched himself in the face to stop it, but it came out anyway; "Fuck me sideways."

"If you say that word one more time I'm going to have you _thrown out._"

Jak sat back down, "I'm sorry! What about Ven's darkness? What happened to it? Did Xehanort put it back? Did it vanish? Did he absorb it into his own body?"

"It..." she stopped, and told him urgently, "You must not share this information with Sora. We will tell him about all of this... _in time_—but now is not the time."

"Okay. I won't tell Sora—What happened to Ven's darkness?"

"It..." she stopped again. Jak jumped to say the forbidden word, but he cut himself off with a strange little noise and dropped back into his chair. Minnie continued, "You know about the heartless?"

"Yes."

"You know about the Nobodies?"

"Yes, yes."

"Ven's darkness... became its own person."

Jak made an over dramatic noise of frustration and delight all rolled into one. Minnie leaned back in shock and did not say another thing until he had settled back into his seat like a good boy.

"Xehanort named him Vanitas and trained him in secret as Eraqus trained Ventus. He planned to pit the two against each other once again in a second attempt to forge the X-blade. Vanitas was tied to raw emotions, and his physical body was only an illusion. His true form was a wraith that could be split and reformed, and he created monsters called Unversed."

Jak sprung up again and he started to pace. "There aren't Unversed now—and there is no ultimate Keyblade. Did Xehanort's plan fail? Did they never meet again? If the unversed were part of Vanitas... Vanitas is gone?"

"Yes. The two met, and they fought. The X-blade was almost created—but it was not meant to be. Xehanort's experiment was a failure. Ven's light and Vanitas' darkness were equally matched, but it was not the way the blade would be forged. Ventus lost his heart, and Vanitas lost his body. Xehanort survived to try again."

"Where is Ven now?"

"Aqua hid him—She took Eraqus' Keyblade, and used it to twist Land of Departure, sealing and consolidating the remaining pieces into Castle Oblivion, we thought she hid him there, Organization Thirteen searched Castle Oblivion high and low for years, they never found Ven. Maybe he was never there. Maybe his body has turned to dust long ago."

"I'm sorry—What's Organization Thirteen?"

"An Organization of Nobodies."

"Any known members?"

"Yes. Plenty. the members that would know about Castle Oblivion would be Axel, Larxene, Marluxia, Vexen, Zexion... Uh, Lexaeus... I think that is all that was there. Only Axel is alive now, I've heard he was sent back there a few times to search for various things, destroy research, clean the place, so if you're interested in Castle Oblivion, you're going to need to get in touch with him, but that's not terribly hard to do, he'll stick his nose in your business at one point or another. The other members are... Let's see, Roxas, that's Sora's Nobody, but he's... gone. Xemnas is the leader, in addition to Axel and him, the other remaining members are Saix, Luxord, Xaldin, Demyx, Xigbar... and... And I think I'm missing one..."

"No, that was thirteen. Why do they all have an X in their name?"

"It's a theme name... thing... Honestly neither the king nor I am sure. They're aliases... The ones that have been their longest were from Radient Garden—that is, Hollow Bastion—I feel like I'm _missing_ _one_."

Jak hardly heard her. It hit him like a runaway hellcat. The pieces fell into place in one fell swoop. Axel and Saix. "Lea and Isa."

Queen Minnie began to look through the book shelves, muttering to herself that she _must have_ forgotten one. Jak was lost in his own world, his boots were loud on the tile as he paced back and forth in front of the desk and Minnie looked through her books of letters, "Lea and Isa are members of Organization Thirteen... I've been so blind! I though—I though Lea was good but... Why save her if... Bait? Was the old woman bait? Bait for who...? Sora...?"

He stopped. His breath came quickly, and for a moment, it came no more. Everything fell into place. Kairi. The old woman was bait for Kairi. Xehanort was after her still—under another name. His assumed name, hidden in plain sight; Ansem. Ansem to Xemnas—they were both Xehanort under an alias. Twice was a coincidence. _THIRTEEN TIMES_ was a compulsion. What else was he mocking them with every time they breathed his name? He pulled out the missing persons flyers from his pack and nearly destroyed the desk searching for a pen to write down on the blank space on the backs of the pages.

X-E-H-A-N-O— "Oh my!"

Jak looked up from the last page. He was two letter shorts of the full set. There were two a blank sheet of paper in Queen Minnie's hands, an open book of full, long, hand-written letters in a book on the desk. He did not know why they were blank. He did not care that they were blank. Jak lunged forward and rudely snatched them. R. T.

_XEHANORT._

He stepped back, mouth dry, hands shaking. It was his pattern. Take the information he wanted hidden, scramble it up with an X. He was playing a game. Was he was so certain he was untouchable? Was he taunting everyone? Did he want to be found out?

Minnie watched him, baffled, as he slowly reached forward and pulled back the first page, rolled it in his hand. He started at the precursor characters spread out in front of him. If anyone else found this, it would stick out like a sore thumb, eight pages of strange letters. He took a moment to look at the two he had taken from Minnie's hands. Framing the R and the T were deliberate, neat letterheads and footers, a post script jotted as an after thought. There letters themselves, however, were blank as could be. That was a question for another time.

The door opened. They both jumped. It was only Stitch. He climbed onto the chair Jak had been sitting in, looked at the seven pages on the desk, then he climbed onto the desk, "What say?"

"Ehanort."

"Eh?"

Jak held up the page in his hand, "Xehanort. The X is meaningless. He takes names, and scrambles them up—it unscrambles to something."

Stitch looked back at the pages fast as lightning. His ears flicked up. The pages stared back, black ink drying slowly. EHANORT.

Stitch raised his hands, slowly, carefully, he picked up one page and moved it. Then another. And another. He stepped back._ No Heart._ It was that simple. The puzzle was done. Stitch knew six characters of precursor and he had solved it faster than him.

His shiny black eyes turned to him, worried, intrigued, excited all bundled into one, "Another Alias?"

Jak was red in the face. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep himself quiet. Minnie looked at her ruined letters, then to him, and then she hissed, defeated, "Fine. _Say it._"

* * *

Only you, readers, have the power to keep me from writing Heartless Robot Zombie Erol.

Because if you don't?

I am totally going to write Heartless Robot Zombie Erol.


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